


The Sky Tastes Like Raspberries

by Seldarius



Series: Phryniverse [4]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-11-03 19:37:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 72,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17883926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seldarius/pseuds/Seldarius
Summary: While a serial killer roams Melbourne, Jack Robinson faces the biggest challenge of his life: Convincing Phryne to become his wife. But with bodies dropping left and right, the question of questions remains unasked and when not one, but two women from the Inspector's past reappear, Phryne starts wondering how not getting what she never wanted, can be so utterly unsatisfying.





	1. Lemon

**Author's Note:**

> I continue to re-post my old fics, this one originally published on fanfiction.net between 04/02/2014 and 27/02/2014.

Chapter 1: Lemon

 

He should have known! In retrospect, he would always be aware how silly it had been to ever think he could hide something from Phryne Fisher. But then again, we always know better afterwards.

It was a bright, sunny January afternoon and Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson had come home from work early, mostly because really there was nothing much to do. The heat wave sweeping over Melbourne seemed to suffocate even the most persistent of criminal activity. That and his office was currently very much resembling an oven. Here, in the parlour with the aquamarine coloured walls, the heat was bearable, which was probably owned to the fan working overtime as well as the one or other secret trick, Mr. Butler had up his sleeve. Jack was not quite sure what they were, but they smelled faintly of lemon.

He had as it was, more out of pure necessity than actual want, ditched his coat and vest, since he feared he would die of a heat stroke otherwise and was presently setting up the chess board while Phryne slipped into something less comfortable, that would most likely end with him losing this game out of pure lack of blood in his brain. Jack was just positioning his pawns, when she took a seat across from him, smelling of a perfume that she had never worn before. He knew that moment, that they would likely skip dinner.

“New?” He asked, then looked up from his pieces and stopped breathing. She followed his eyes to the small square box in her hands.

“I rather think it is.”

Jack Robinson's watched on, as she sat the corpus delicti down in the middle of the chessboard. Then he looked up again, remembering to close his mouth.

“A beautiful piece.” She smiled sweetly, picking up her king.

“I see...” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I see you found my present. Even though I am not sure how you ended up in my sock drawer.”

She looked up, held his gaze. Of course she didn't believe him.

“You seem to have gotten your dates mixed up. I recall that my birthday was three weeks ago and you presented me with a beautiful necklace.”

He picked up the ring box, shoving it into his pocket to win time.

“I never said it was a present for you.”

Miss Fisher didn't answer. In fact, she seemed to have run out of questions, which was just as well, as he had run out of lies to tell her. She just set up her pieces in silence. The humming of the spinning fan was the only sound for a while. Finally, she opened with a pawn.

“Well, silly me. I thought for a moment, you might have forgotten that I am not the marrying type.”

He pretended to ponder his move, trying for a casual tone of voice.

“Believe me, Miss Fisher, I am very well aware of that.”

She fixed him with a penetrating stare, then rose to pour herself a drink behind him and Jack took the opportunity to rub both hands over his hot face. So that was that. Check-mate! And he hadn't even had the chance to make a move yet.

Phryne returned, setting a glass of lemon-water beside him so gently that Jack wondered, if she was making amends. There was no need for that. It was not like she had ever pretended that she wanted to get married. He was just being a fool. An old-fashioned fool, pushing his luck, when really he had everything and more he could have ever hoped for. For being so happy, his chest felt awfully tight right now.

“You know, the first move is generally considered rather easy.”

Jack Robinson heard her smiling voice break through his thoughts. He blinked. Of course. The game. His fingers grabbed his knight, before he knew what he was doing.

“Unexpected.” A pair of red lips said after a pause. “Maybe a bit silly, but certainly interesting.”

He didn't get to answer, as an arrival at the door pulled their attention away from the game.

“God, it is bloody hot out there.” Doctor MacMillan swore, when she stepped through the door. Mr. Butler smiled politely at her crude words. He looked, despite this weather, absolutely immaculate, Jack noticed with a hint of envy. Even though his detective-eyes had spotted something new about the Butler. A new vibe surrounding him, a new glitter in his eyes. He wondered...

“Oh, it's heavenly cool in here, I tell you that.” Mac said loudly, instead of a greeting and dropped onto the love seat. “I have not interrupted you two love birds, have I?”

“Hardly, unless you are talking about me losing this game of chess.” Jack Robinson said, gesturing at the small table.

“Jack, you are being silly. We have hardly started.” Miss Fisher pointed out, a sparkle in her eyes and made her next move. “What brings you here, Mac? Or have you just grown tired of sitting behind your baking desk?”

“Well, I thought it was a rather good idea to leave, before the bloody thing catches fire.” Mac grumbled. “But in fact, I need to talk to you, Phryne. In private. No offense, Jack.”

“That's alright, I do have things to do as it is.”

The Inspector pulled himself up, longing for the protection of his usual armour. He felt almost naked in his shirtsleeves, which to his surprise had less to do with Mac's appearance than with the cold shower he felt he had just received from Phryne. He was actually quite happy to escape so he could sort his thoughts. The two women watched him go, before Miss Fisher turned to the doctor, setting a drink down before her.

“Tell me, since when do you call him Jack?”

Mac drained her glass before answering.

“Since Dot's wedding. We had a bit of a bonding experience there.” She laughed at her friends confused face. “But that was not really what I wanted to talk to you about.”

She patted the seat beside herself and Miss Fisher obediently sank onto the cushions.

“I need your help, Phryne. As a detective.”

“Is your lover cheating on you?” She smiled, sweetly.

Mac rolled her eyes at that.

“You know very well, I don't have one at this point in time. No, I have a patient who has lost her memory and I need you to help me find out who she is.”

Intrigued, Phryne listened. A girl, somewhere in her 20s had been washed up on the river bank about two month before, with a heavy head wound. She had woken after a week, recovered well, but her memory was lost and no background to be made out.

“So, why was this something that Jack couldn't hear?” Miss Fisher finally asked. “In fact, if she is the victim of a crime, I think the police might be a good place to start.”

Elizabeth MacMillan chewed on her lip.

“The police were involved when she was found, but came up with no results. Emily, that's what we call her, doesn't want to consult them again. In fact I'm pushing her trust by coming to you. I'm quite sure she's been raped the night she was injured, Phryne. So this is a sensitive case. I don't want the girl to get hurt any more.”

Miss Fisher nodded slowly. A part of her wanted to curl up in the corner and weep, the rest of her demanded justice. Rape was something that made her blood boil and her head spin in equal amounts. It seemed inhumane in a way that even murder wasn't.

“Right, so where do I start?”

“Come talk to her tomorrow at the hospital. She is still going to be with us for a few days before I have to find some other place for her to stay. I'll try and prepare her gently for your arrival.”

“You make me sound like a monster.” Miss Fisher laughed.

Mac didn't answer. She had seen the look on Jack's face as he had all but run up the stairs. The doctor had an inkling of what that was due to. Phryne had found out. And the poor man had probably taken the full impact of her denial.

 

X

 

The poor man was currently sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to be sensible. It didn't matter, he attempted to convince himself, for the hundredth time, while undoing his cuff links. Phryne was committed to him, had proven it over and over again. Marriage wouldn't change a thing about that. And yet... He couldn't explain it. Maybe it was just that he wanted to share her name, show the world where his heart lay. Be not her undefined house guest, her live-in-lover, the shadow sneaking into her bedroom at night. But he wasn't. There was no sneaking, because he wasn't ashamed of anything. He loved her and she loved him and that was that. So why on earth did he have to risk that by trying to struggle her into a mould that she didn't want to fit into?

Jack took the ring box out of his pocket, snapping it open. The black diamond sparkled at him as he ran his fingertips over the curls of metal. He felt himself calm down, breathing again. Because he needed to give her this, he realised. He needed to be hers, not the other way round. Phryne Fisher might be a modern woman, but he wasn't a modern man. The Inspector snapped the box shut, and sat it down beside him on the bed. Then picked it up again, slipping it into the drawer of his nightstand. At least he didn't have to hide it anymore. Sighing, he let himself fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. How did you solve a riddle, when you didn't even know the first line?

 

 

X

 

Phryne Fisher was annoyed when she got up from the dinner table. She fully understood that Jack was angry with her. She was angry with herself, too. The truth was, she had found the ring box purely by mistake, while returning a pair of forgotten socks – a sharp reminder to never do housework. And she had panicked. Marriage wasn't something she had ever wanted or considered. Things were wonderful as they were and she just couldn't understand, why Jack wanted to change that. Or was she imagining things? Was he unhappy? The tears pricking at the back of her eyes at that thought, raised her annoyance to cosmic proportions and she was positively steaming when she stormed up the stairs to confront him. Skipping dinner and pouting in his bedroom really was most childish. The second she ripped his door open, her rage evaporated. Jack Robinson was lying across his bed, still in his trousers, but his shirt half undone, with the sleeves rolled up and his eyes closed. His dreams must have been sweet ones, as he was smiling. Maybe she hadn't hurt him as much as she'd feared. The drawer of his night stand was not properly closed, not even attempting to hide the ring box from her trained eye. With a glance at his sleeping frame, Phyrne pulled the offending jewellery out and had another look at it. It really was the most beautiful ring and her heart beat faster at the thought of how much it must have taken him to chase down a black diamond in Melbourne. They were indeed rare – just like him. The Inspector stirred in his sleep and she hastily slipped the box back where it belonged. A thought crossed her mind. Slowly, gently, she started undoing his remaining buttons, listening with half an ear for any changes in his breathing. He must have been quite far off, as he didn't stir at all till she had reached his belt buckle. With a quiet grunt he shifted slightly, but didn't open his eyes. Phryne let her breath escape and returned to her work. When she had finally succeeded and closed her lips around him, she felt for a split moment how Jack's whole body went rigid, as if she had just shaken him out of sweetest dreams – hopefully into an even sweeter reality. He pulled himself up slightly, looking at her with sleepy, surprised eyes, an involuntary groan escaping his throat. With a smirk she watched as he licked his dry lips, trying to form a sentence.

“What...?”

However that question would have ended, it died on his lips, as she deepened her efforts and a wave of lust washed every capability of his brain away. Jack let himself sink back onto the bed and allowed his body to fall into the sensations running through it. God, she was good at this. In fact, the Honourable Phryne Fisher was presently content to make Jack forget everything about their afternoon conversation and all other pain she might have ever caused him, by the swipe of her tongue and the kiss of her lips, listening in joy to the way his breathing picked up and his groans got heavier. She had learned to read him, knew the moment he would topple over the edge and as usually, she was there to catch him when he fell.

Once Jack had caught his breath, he stretched out his hand in longing.

“Phryne?”

It was only a hoarse whisper, but she knew what he wanted. Obediently she crawled onto the bed and snuggled into his side, feeling his arms wrap around herself. The smugness she had felt a minute ago, had evaporated, leaving only a strange feeling in her gut that brought those bloody tears back. Jack had noticed it too, she found with a start, his eyes were fixed on hers while he gently brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.

“Are you alright?” He asked, hardly audible.

Phryne nodded her head, her throat was too tight to come up with any smart replies. She had no delusions as to him believing her, but he pulled her closer all the same and she felt her eyes shutting on their own accord. So she lay on his naked chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and wondered, why it always had to be this way. In the end, every man wanted something that she wasn't willing to give and Jack... Jack, was different, wasn't he? He might understand. Suddenly it seemed like the worst idea she had ever had to confront him with the ring. But then, she couldn't have waited till he brought home the red roses and went down on his knee. Why did he have to do this to them? It was just not fair! Jack startled her somewhat by stroking her head. Had she sobbed? Phryne pulled herself up to look at him and was surprised to find nothing but love in his eyes. No anger, no hurt, not even disappointment. She wasn't sure why that unsettled her so much, but she forgot all about it as he pulled her into a passionate kiss. When they resurfaced, Phryne found herself flat on the bed, still completely dressed but with the heavy weight of a smirking Inspector on top of herself. 

“I think, Miss Fisher, you owe me a rematch.”

“Do I now, Inspector?” She teased, surprised but thankful for the sudden mood change.

“You won the first round by unfair methods. I demand justice.”

And Phryne Fisher was, as it turned out, all for justice.

 


	2. Strawberries

Elizabeth MacMillan took the last steps two at a time. The hospital was positively baking at this time of the year and right now she wished she could go home and take the blouse off that was sticking to her back. But she had still work to do, patients to see and her visit to Phryne's house had cost her longer than she had anticipated. That had, as she admitted to herself, to do with the fact that she had been in no particular hurry to leave the cool parlour of her best friend again. She had also used the chance to prod gently at Miss Fisher to figure out how she really felt about the pending proposal of her Inspector, but to no avail.

Elizabeth had rather unwillingly found out about his intentions, when she had overheard him plotting something in secret with her own assistant Amber Walters and had come down on him with the wrath of a Medusa, briefly convinced that he was having an affair with the young medicine student. A rather silly thought in retrospect, as Jack Robinson was so smitten with the Honourable Phryne Fisher, that he likely hadn't even noticed how attractive Amber was and that she seemed also to be slightly drawn to the handsome policeman. That observation, Mac had not shared with Jack, as he had presented to her his single piece of defense, a beautiful white gold ring with a black stone, whose symbolism, he had assured her, Phryne would understand.

It had taken somewhat longer to explain Amber's role in the whole drama, who shared a twisted history with the Inspector as an accessory to his kidnapping some months ago. Somehow that had lead to her helping him to choose said ring and therefore becoming his partner in crime, plotting the marriage of the freedom-loving Miss Fisher with almost as much enthusiasm as the Inspector himself. And Mac found to her astonishment, that she started to be drawn in by the whirlwind of emotions too. While marriage was, simply due to her sexual orientation, out of the question for herself, she was starting to wonder, just what kept her friend from it other than the resolve that “she was not the marrying type”. Phryne also wasn't mother material, yet had become Jane's guardian, missing the girl thoroughly ever since she had gone to travel the world and she was not a one-man-kinda-girl, yet seemed to glow in happiness since she had allowed herself to fall for the handsome Inspector Robinson. So, Mac suspected, it was mostly fear and stubbornness that would keep her from giving in to just say an official “yes” to the man who her heart had whispered a determined agreement to a long time ago. Doctor MacMillan sighed as she opened the door to her office, being hit by another wave of heat. It was all very well, having windows to the north side when you were able to enjoy the sunlight, but in this weather it was a death sentence. All of that didn't seem to bother the girl that was sitting somewhat to the side in a chair, completely absorbed in a file. Amber looked up on her mentors arrival, a sweaty lock of copper hair sticking to her forehead, which sadly didn't make her appear any less pretty.

“How was your visit?” She asked, before Mac had gotten her breath back and fallen behind her desk that seemed to glow in the direct sunlight.

“Successful.” She finally panted. “Miss Fisher will take up the case and come to see Emily in the morrow. However, we seem to have complications on the proposal front.”

She quickly explained the odd behaviour she had witnessed and Amber sighed, pulling her red lips into a frown.

“He is a bit of an idiot sometimes, isn't he?” She stated clearly. Mac laughed at that.

“And I don't blame him. I believe, Phryne Fisher makes every man look like a fool at some point or another.”

“Makes you wonder...” Amber mumbled under her breath, a statement, that let Elizabeth's head fly up in surprise.

“I would not wonder too hard, if I was you, Miss Walters.” She said more sharply than she had intended. If her assistant noticed what she was implying, she didn't show it, even though she could have hardly missed it. She changed the subject smoothly.

“Mrs. Smith is running a fever again.” She explained, getting up to lay the folder into the doctor's hand. “I fear we might have to reconsider our approach.”

The doctor swallowed down a harsh comment on how Amber was definitely not ready to make a medical judgement as of yet. The eyes of the two women locked, Miss Walters holding the stare of her superior calmly. Mac took the papers after a pause, feeling that this was by far not the end of the complications to be expected.

 

X

 

“I'm rather thinking I might have a lie down.” Mrs. Bungard stated, rising from her armchair. “The heat is not good for my old bones.”

The young gentleman, who had been absorbed in a book up till now, got up to escort her from the library to the stairs. “Of course, mother. You do look a bit pale, if you don't mind me saying.”

“Feeling rotten, as your father would have said.” The dark haired lady laughed. “But I'm sure it will pass. Goodnight, my son.”

She pulled his head down with both hands to press a gentle kiss to the forehead and Mr. Charles Bungard watched his mother all the way up the stairs covering her from the big entrance hall to the upper rooms, before he returned to his cigarettes and reading. When he sat down, a gentle evening wind swept through the open French doors that lead into the garden where the sun seemed to have finally decided on setting. If it hadn't been for the heat he would have quite enjoyed himself, Charles thought, as he drained his brandy and returned his attention to Voltaire.

An hour later, a screaming maid all but broke down the door to Mrs. Bungard's bedroom.

“Madame, the Master! Please come quickly! I think he's dead!”

 

 

X

 

The phone! It was always how it started. And it never happened when he had just woken from a nightmare or was about to get up anyway. No, the phone always rang when he had found a comfortable spot in the mattress, when he was snuggled up against Phryne, when he was lost in sweet dreams. And of course, tonight was no exception. Jack shook her off his arm gently, before fishing for the sheet that they had ditched on the floor sometime during their evening entertainment. He knew that she didn't mind being seen by her servants in her natural state, but he had not been living in a rich house long enough to have stopped worrying about common decency. Which meant mostly to not be seen by men and women other than his lover in a state of complete undress. The sound of the still ringing phone promised that it wouldn't be Mrs. Stanley to invite Phryne over for a game of cards, because her social calendar showed an empty spot and neither would it be Mac, asking for once before she dropped by for a drink. This phone rang troubles. Jack managed to throw the sheet over the both of them, hiding any evidence of what they had been up to, before Dorothy came to call him downstairs. He picked some new clothes from the wardrobe before obliging, the crumpled shirt was really in no state to be worn to a crime scene anymore, even with the worst clichés of detectives in mind. Phryne still did not stir, which was odd. No promise of excitement had ever managed to get past her for long enough to stay in bed when a murder was calling – quite literally as it was. He hastily slipped downstairs where an obviously tired Hugh Collins was waiting patiently on the line.

“Sir, we had a sudden death called in. A Charles Bungard...” Jack listened quietly till the Constable had finished his explanation. Something felt strange about this, and it wasn't only because it was a young man who had collapsed out of the blue. He was certain he had heard the name before somewhere.

“I'll get on my way, Collins. Give me half an hour.”

He turned and almost jumped, when he found Dot standing right behind himself.

“Miss Williams!”

Dot ignored the fact that his brain still hadn't quite adapted to her new marital status. Possibly she had forgotten herself.

“Sir, I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but notice the name before.” She had the decency to look embarrassed. “Hugh was rambling a bit, when I picked up the phone. This Charles Bungard? Is it the actor?”

Jack Robinson considered this for a moment. It would explain how he had heard the name before, but at this stage he didn't know if he should be thankful to Dot or rather annoyed by her wish for gossip.

“I honestly do not know, Mrs. Collins, but I will make sure to satisfy your curiosity later on.” He stated dryly, hardly hiding the sarcasm involved and went upstairs to wash his face and put on the rest of his clothes. Miss Fisher was still lying rolled up on her side, completely oblivious it seemed, and he listened for a moment into the twilight to make sure she was breathing.

As quietly as he could manage he got fully dressed and walked around the bed to say goodbye. Phryne looked troubled, even in her sleep. Like she was suffering of a bad toothache, knowing that she would wake up to it and so stubbornly choosing not to. It would at least explain how the promise of an adventure hadn't roused her. Tenderly the Inspector wiped her black hair aside and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Her skin was almost burning under his lips and he resolved in taking the sheet back off her. Maybe it was just the heat playing tricks on her. He walked out the door, down the stairs, finding that secretly he was waiting for her to suddenly appear by his side, fully awake and chattering. But she didn't and with a certain feeling of emptiness he finally climbed into the car and drove off.

 

X

 

A mere twenty minutes later, Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson walked through the impressive portal of the equally impressive town residence of the Bungard family, trying to not show how intimidated he was. His memory had returned with some information during the endlessly stretching drive through the dark streets, barely avoiding wiping out a horse that had chosen that right-of-way really wasn't for it. The Bungard's were an old Melbourne family, some even said their ancestor was one of the first settlers in Victoria. There were also rumours that he had been the youngest branch of a big, aristocratic family tree that reached back into Britain's middle ages. Of course there was plenty of 'might' involved in those stories, but there was definitely a lot of money showing in the building of this house. An over excited Constable Collins awaited the Inspector in the entrance hall. 

“Good evening, Sir. The body is in the library.”

Jack nodded, making his way into a rather big, and almost square room, it's walls

covered with an abundance of expensive looking reading material. Its impressiveness was quite spoiled by a sharp smell in the air. The Inspector picked up a book that had been dropped onto the floor, at the artfully carved feet of an armchair. 

“Candide, ou l'Optimisme.” He read under his breath.

“Anything interesting, Sir?” Hugh asked, readying his notebook.

“I doubt it will help us in this case, but at least he died looking optimistically into his short future.” The Inspector stated dryly, pulling himself up to turn his attention to the corpse that was lying near an open French window, through which a light breeze swept, bringing some relief to his already sweaty forehead. The young man, who must have been incredibly handsome before death had brought a waxy quality to his skin, was lying in a foetal position, his face in a rather smelly puddle of chunky liquid. The heat let the stench assault the nostrils on entering the room and drawing closer the Inspector had to turn towards the window and take some breaths into his lungs, trying to shut out the urge to add to the mess on the floor.

“Charles Bungard, Sir. Youngest son of the Bungard family. His mother retired at...” The Constable consulted his notebook, “...around 7 o'clock and the maid found him like this about 45 minutes later.”

Collins pointed at a young girl in uniform, who was standing motionlessly to the side, shock still written all across her face.

“Can we get the girl out of here, please, Collins? I don't think staring at the corpse all night will make her memory any sharper.” Inspector Robinson prompted. “Has anyone else been living here?”

He crouched down beside the corpse. Poisoning was the rather obvious conclusion at this stage, if by mistake or purpose was another question.

“Only his mother, three maids, a cook and a butler, Inspector. His older brother Caspar lives with his family in a country estate somewhat outside Melbourne and he does seem to have an aunt somewhere around, but that is all the family.”

“Thank you Constable. Can you please bring all people that were in the house when it happened into the drawing room, we will have to question them.”

The Inspector stopped while he barely kept the drapes of his topcoat from wiping up the vomit off the floor, when something caught his eye. Gently he took the man's hand and unfolded his fingers to reveal a deep cut across Charles Bungard's Palm.

He pulled himself up to stand.

“Right Collins, I need our men to pack up everything in this house that looks like food and also we will have to find what exactly Mr. Bungard cut himself on. Something here definitely points to foul play.”

 

X

 

It was far after midnight, when Jack finally returned to his bedroom. Even bigger was his surprise when he found that Miss Fisher was still lying in the exact same position he had left her in.

“Phryne?” He whispered, worry creeping into his voice.

He touched her forehead, that seemed to glow under his fingertips.

“Phryne!” He tried again, gently shaking her shoulder. She grumbled in her sleep, swatting at his disturbing hand. The Inspector opened the window to let some air in. Quietly, the night swept into the room, looked at the figure on the bed and shrugged it's dark shoulders. The Inspector peeled himself out of his coat, trying to calm his racing thoughts and figure out what to do. This wasn't just the heat wave, was it? Just when he undid his tie, he felt her moving. 

“Jack?” He heard her mumble in the dark. It sounded like she was drowning. Within a heartbeat he was back at her bedside. 

“Phryne, are you alright?” He whispered, even though there was nobody he could have disturbed, cupping her cheek. “You're burning up.”

“Just... hot.” She replied. “Can I have some water?”

Jack almost jumped to his feet, finding the water jug in the darkness. Thank God for Mr. Butler's thoughtfulness. Miss Fisher drank greedily.

“I dreamed you were gone.” She finally said, still sounding like a little girl. “That you left without saying goodbye.”

He ran his fingers through her hair, wondering what all this was about.

“I was called to a case, Phryne.”

“But you came back.” She said, snuggling back into her pillow. He stroked her head in silence for a while, trying to find an answer to this. Whatever had brought this on?

“Of course I came back, I'll always come back for you.” He finally promised, not sure if she still heard him. Her breath returned to a slow steady rhythm and Jack finally dared to get up and wash his face, before crawling onto the mattress with her. He didn't try to hold her, it was too hot for that and he was worried his own anxiety might rouse her from her sleep. He felt on edge. It wasn't just the corpse, the sudden end of a young life, that had been more than promising to be a good one, even though murders always shook him up that little bit, even after all those years. It wasn't even that his investigations so far bore little ground for hope that they would find the culprit in a hurry. Charles Bungard seemed to have been a nice man, quite liked by his staff, thoughtful towards his mother, admired by his fans. Miss Williams had been right, he was an aspiring film star with roles in some smaller productions and mostly liked by young women. Doubtlessly that had to do with his golden hair and the bright blue eyes that were currently starring lifelessly onto a sheet in the morgue. But none of this was really what stirred Inspector Robinson up. There was some strange feeling in his gut that things weren't right. And he couldn't have pinned it onto the case or his private life, but he would have called it a dark sense of foreboding, if he believed in nonsense like that.

Phryne turned, sweat still  glistening on  her face and he was relieved to find, that her skin had cooled down somewhat. He brushed a kiss to her forehead, covering his own lips in the salty droplets that he wiped off with his thumb. Not everything that seemed theoretically romantic, was in practice, he smirked to himself, wh ile he settled a hand onto her hip, assuring her that he was still here with her and watched her eyelids flutter in a vivid dream. It took him a long time to get back to sleep. 

 


	3. Apricots

“Would you mind me having the sports part, Inspector?”

Without looking up from an article on the first diesel engine automobile trip, Jack Robinson divided his already crumpled newspaper further and handed the sheets over to Mr. Butler, who sat down his coffee cup gently and laid the political pages aside.

“Thank you, Sir. I think I might have set on the right horse there yesterday. But I seem to have missed the results on the wireless.”

“Don't mention it.” Jack mumbled, from behind his wall of paper, fishing for his own cup. It had hardly hit 7.00 o'clock and the day was still fresh and comparatively cool. Despite his lack of sleep, the Inspector had decided to get an early start, in the hope that by the time the heat rose to the extreme he could be back home for a cold bath and a nap. That and an early morning gave him a chance to have breakfast in the kitchen with Mr. Butler rather than pretend to be the master of the house and sit stiffly and on his own at the dining table. Like Miss Fisher, etiquette seemed to be getting up late and he liked to sneak out of bed early and trick it.

“Good morning.” A cheerful voice sounded from his back. Dorothy Collins made herself a cup of tea, while the men absent-mindedly greeted her. She did mostly have the decency to at least pretend that she wasn't living here anymore, but rather in the attached little town house at the other end of the block. But then again, her husband was probably still asleep after having spent half the night securing a crime scene and questioning witnesses, so the Inspector could not really blame her for being drawn through the connecting door into Miss Fisher's house rather than spend the morning by herself.

“Anything on the murder in the papers?” She asked, while slipping onto a chair. Now Jack let his sheets sink.

“I doubt that even the press would be that fast, Miss... Mrs. Collins. Mr. Bungard only just died last night and if he was murdered, is less than certain at this stage.”

He watched the young maid chew on her lower lip for a while in thought.

“I wonder who should murder him. He seemed such a nice man.”

Detective-Inspector Robinson thought of his last big murder case.

“Well seemingly nice people can sometimes be a lot less nice than they seem.” He grumbled under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing of importance.” He hurried to assure her. “Tell me, Miss...” The Inspector cleared his throat loudly, missing the amused grin Mr. Butler shot him over the edge of his newspaper. “What did you know about the deceased?”

A new animation appeared on Mrs. Collins face as she thought about her connection with the beautiful Charles Bungard.

“I only met him once, actually, Inspector. When I went with Miss Fisher to a film set about a year ago. I think they were doing a historic piece on “Cleopatra, Queen Of The Nile” or something similar.”

“And he was playing Marc Anthony?” Jack asked dryly, hiding a smirk at the enthusiasm in her voice.

She cocked her head.

“No, I rather think he was one of the servants. However, Miss Fisher introduced me to him and he's such a charming man. Actually a lot more dashing than he appears on screen I found. Very good manners.”

She blushed at the obviously fond memories and the Inspector chose to not ask any further. He doubted that there was anything to be gained from this conversation.

“I think Miss Fisher was also quite impressed with him.” Dot added, unasked for. Jack didn't have time to find out if this statement produced any jealousy in him, as in the same moment he heard a sweet voice in his back.

“I rather remember finding him a bit over the top in his appliance of charm.”

Miss Fisher swept through the door, where she must have listened for a while, laying her hands on Jack's shoulder in an casually intimate gesture and brushing a kiss to his cheek. Dot's blush deepened as she scrambled up to collect a cup for her mistress. Talking about her behind her employer's back was certainly not something she had intended to do.

Miss Fisher's eyes followed her fondly, as she sat down beside Jack.

“So you did not find yourself swept away by the dashing Mr. Bungard then, Miss Fisher?” The Inspector asked her with a smirk, while he realised that her hands had grasped his for no apparent reason at all.

“Well, he was a rather good actor, I grant you that.” Phryne said, letting go of Jack and accepting the cup from her companion's fingers. “But for being such a rich and handsome boy I found he was rather boring. A bit obsequious maybe.”

“Miss!”

A pair of blue eyes swept over to Dorothy Collins in amusement.

“You know, Dot, while I respect your reluctance to talk bad about dead people, it won't help the Inspector to find his killer if we tell him friendly lies.”

“If there even is a killer to be found.” Inspector Robinson threw in. “Not every poisoning is a murder.”

“What else could it be, Jack? You reckon he licked the rat trap in the pantry?”

“It could have been an accident. Even food poisoning.”

She chose not to answer to this and instead drained her coffee. Jack found he wished the servants to be gone so he could ask her what exactly had happened last night. Phryne Fisher had never slept through a murder before and the sudden spell of fever still gnawed at his guts. But what happened next, worried him even more.

“However, I must be gone, I have an appointment at the hospital.”

Phryne realised a second too late, what she was implying. “I need to talk to a client in a case.” She hurried to set things straight, before all colour could drain from Jack's face.

“So this was what Doctor Mac's visit was about?” He asked pleasantly, finishing his own cup.

“I'll drive you. It is only two streets down from my crime scene as it is.”

That was not even a lie, but really he just needed to find out what was happening with his Phryne. The Honourable Miss Fisher ignoring a murder investigation for some little case was something deeply disturbing.

“I'm alright, Jack.” She assured him, but he refused to budge.

“I insist.”

He pushed his chair back and offered her his arm. For a long moment it seemed like she was going to argue with him.

“We take the Hispano.” She finally decided, grabbing his arm. “No police car, that is important.”

When they had vanished, Mr. Butler slowly dropped his paper onto the table.

“What was all that about?” He asked Dot, who was about to collect the cups.

“I have no idea. But I think I might have to offer the Inspector my first name, before his head explodes.”

 

X

 

Doctor Mac slammed the door shut behind herself. Mrs. Smith must be the most annoying patient in the history of sick people. She jumped, when her visitor spoke.

“Is Phryne sick?”

The Inspector had stood with his back to her, staring out into the waking city. Mac wanted to make a snappy reply asking what he was doing here, how he dared to just appear in her office, scaring the life out of her and generally that you greeted someone first, before asking questions like that. But then she had a look at his face and closed her mouth again.

“Not to my knowledge.” She said, watching him take a deep breath.

“Please tell me the truth.”

With some annoyance she slapped Mrs. Smith's folder down onto her desk, before turning to him.

“I have never told you anything but the truth, Jack! Phryne is not sick, at least she did not tell me about it.”

“But your visit? Her being here this morning?”

“I asked her to investigate for one of my patients, if you must know. The girl has lost her memory after a pretty nasty bang on the head. So that makes it kind of hard to return her to her family, now that she's recovered. Amber is introducing her to Emily right now, actually.”

Jack's eyes fixed on hers, looking for the truth, but after a few seconds, he seemed satisfied. He nodded slowly.

“Phryne slept through a murder investigation last night.”

Doctor MacMillan raised an eyebrow.

“At the crime-scene?”

“In my bed.”

“In that case it is shocking, but not worrying.”

She tried to return to her work, but the Inspector still stood in the middle of her office and twisted his hat in his hands.

“What else?” The doctor prompted.

“I think she was running a fever when I got home.”

Elizabeth nodded and closed her paperwork, finally gesturing for him to sit.

“Any other symptoms? Nausea? Pain? Vomiting?”

The Inspector shook his head, trying to remember details.

“Nightmares. She said, she'd dreamed of me leaving. It was a very strange conversation.”

He said it quietly, almost as if he was embarrassed by the idea that this could scare Phryne Fisher. Mac shook her head in silence. He really was oblivious, wasn't he?

“I gave her some water and her fever broke soon after.”

The Inspector watched Mac playing with her pencil.

“Jack, did she find out?”

That was not quite the question he had expected. He nodded solemnly.

“And let me guess, she didn't take it well?”

Another nod.

“It's not something that shows up in medical books, but some people do react with fever to stress, Jack.”

The Inspector closed his eyes, trying to let that sink in.

“So what you are saying is, I made her sick by attempting to propose marriage?”

Elizabeth sighed deeply but silently to herself. Men really were complicated.

“No, I'm saying that her body overreacted to the stress of arguing with you.”

The clock ticked into the silence, before he answered.

“We didn't.”

He whispered it, barely audible, then he pulled himself up.

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your time.”

With that he left. Doctor MacMillian looked after him, shaking her head in silence.

 

X

 

 

Miss Fisher found that Emily was really a rather fitting name for the anonymous girl. Big, almost black eyes looked up at her out of a small face, framed by equally dark waves of hair. She didn't look particularly sick, wasn't lying in bed either, but instead sitting at a small table, embroidering something or other. Miss Fisher wondered briefly, how much longer Mac could keep her here, before the hospital board would start making troubles. When Amber approached Emily, whispering to her quietly, a shadow flew over the pretty face that vanished again quickly. Miss Fisher stepped closer and stretched out a hand that was taken in a firm grasp. Then the girl smiled, It was awkward, because Phryne hadn't expected the smile at all. Were hospital patients without memory allowed to smile like that? Miss Fisher took the offered seat, heard Amber withdraw with a quiet apology. She watched the slender fingers of the young woman dance over the fabric for a while, waited on her to open conversation.

“I don't want to be rude, Miss Fisher. But I didn't particularly want to get anyone involved. Doctor MacMillan insisted.” The young woman said, not looking up.

“Well, that's good, because I didn't particularly want to get involved in a missing person case either, but Doctor MacMillan insisted.”

The woman laughed a warm, deep laugh and the ice was broken.

“Alright, so you are going to look for my identity?”

Miss Fisher sat down her hat.

“Sounds exciting.”

“Only if it is not your own identity that has gone lost.” Emily pointed out seriously.

“That I would assume to be true. So, what do you remember?”

A strange look was thrown in Miss Fisher's direction.

“Right, let me rephrase that... what happened after you woke up?”


	4. Grapes

 

 

The nurse behind the desk watched him over the rim of her glasses, as Jack anxiously walked another round through the entrance hall. He had to admit to himself, he didn't know what to do. And not only because he hadn't really thought through the whole one-car approach. He had intended to head over to the Bungard's residence again to have a look at the crime-scene in the light of day and also speak to Margaret Bungard, who had not quite felt up for interviewing after the death of her son, which he could not blame her for. However, he was not entirely sure how Phryne thought about being dragged along, since she seemed to have suddenly lost her interest in his murder-cases. He turned, his brown shoe's leaving marks on the black-and-white stone tiles. And while she claimed to not remember anything of last night, he was still worried. If Mac was right, that meant his selfish goal of getting Phryne to marry him had in fact harmed her, if the doctor was mistaken there might be a health issue and he didn't even want to go down that train of thought. Another turn. The nurse cleared her throat and was completely ignored by the policeman.

“Jack?”

He stopped, startled, looking up into Amber's surprised face. Hearing his first name from her lips was still rather odd. But he guessed it wasn't really possible to share a secret like this with anyone and still deny them your Christian name.

“Where exactly have you been off to?” The medicine student asked, grinning.

He wasn't sure how to answer that.

“I was contemplating my case.” He finally lied. She raised an eyebrow.

“A rather complicated one from the look of it.”

“You have no idea.”

Something in the way she held herself clearly indicated that she didn't believe a word he was saying

“I hear there are certain developments.” Amber continued, after a pause. The Inspector threw a nervous glance to the stairs before giving her an answer. He silently damned his own indiscretion. Why had he felt the need to share his daring quest with the young redhead, rather than just pursue it by himself? Sadly he knew the answer to this all to well: Because he had been about to withdraw from his heroic idea, when Amber Walters had crossed his path unexpectedly, and he had dragged her into this, against his intentions and better judgement. At the time having an ally seemed incredibly tempting. Presently he wished he had just walked back to his car that day, like the coward he was.

“You are correct.” He heard himself say. “After certain events I have reconsidered.”

Amber gaped at him, like he had just grown a second set of arms.

“You have reconsidered? Meaning you are not intending to propose marriage to her anymore?”

“Your power of detection is impressive, Miss Amber.”

Just then, he spotted Miss Fisher coming down the stairs.

“Please excuse me. I'm sure Doctor MacMillan will be happy to fill you in as she feels inclined to.” He said smoothly and wandered off. Just when he, his heart beating in his ears, had reached the bottom of the stairs, Amber shot around the corner.

“But, Jack, you can't-” She stopped abruptly in movement and speech, when she followed his eyes up the stairs, where Phryne had noticed him waiting for her and gave him a small smile.

“It was nice to meet you again, Inspector.” Amber continued smoothly. “Please excuse me, I have patients to see to.” With that, she all but ran up the stairs and past Miss Fisher with a faint greeting on her lips.

Jack Robinson cringed inwardly, but forced his smile to remain in place. He didn't even dare to think what Phryne made of this encounter. She seemed completely unfazed however, rather amused in fact, when she arrived in the hall.

“What was all that about?” She smirked, taking his offered arm.

“I accidentally found myself in Amber's company while waiting for you.” He explained, sharing nothing.

“It must have been an interesting conversation.” Miss Fisher prompted.

“Not particularly, but I may have been a little abrupt in ending it.”

She seemed satisfied with that explanation for the moment. Bright sunlight greeted them upon stepping out the portal, forcing them to blink. Phryne used the brief moment of disorientation for her own advantage.

“So, Jack, since when are you so generous with your first name?”

“I fear I made some closer acquaintances at Collin's wedding. There was quite a lot of alcohol involved.”

Phryne let him help her into the car, choosing not to point out that she couldn't even recall him being tipsy at Dot's wedding. Yet women of all description seemed to be calling him “Jack” all of the sudden. And the urgency with which Amber had pursued him, just to withdraw the moment she had seen Miss Fisher, threw a light on their conversation that she didn't like the shade of. She glanced over at his concentrated face, as he backed the Hispano out of it's parking spot. Jack would never betray her, there was no doubt about that on her mind. And yet, there was something happening that she wasn't aware of and Miss Fisher really didn't like being left in the dark. She opened her red lips to push the subject further, when he remembered something.

“Well, Miss Fisher, are you interested in a crime-scene or would you rather return to your cool home?”

“You can't be serious Jack!”

He had been, but couldn't suppress a smirk, when he turned her car towards the Bungard Residence.

 

X

 

The Victorian house lay silently in the light of the morning that already held the promise of a dangerously hot day. A young maid whose name the Inspector remembered dimly to have been Janice, opened up and lead them into the entrance hall. Phryne's heels struck an immediate friendship with the stone floor. Sometimes Jack wondered if half her delight in wearing those shoes was the noise she caused wherever her feet walked. Attention was certainly not something, Miss Fisher ever lacked. What was slightly disconcerting, was with what ease she seemed to adapt to this place. Even though this house was a lot more pompous than her own, she looked like she might start commanding the staff around her any second. And they would certainly oblige her demands without questioning her authority. Just when he thought that, the real Mistress of the house appeared on the top of the stairs, descending slowly, in no imminent danger to be rushed. Mrs. Bungard was of respect-commanding appearance and Jack was certain he would not have been surprised if the first Governor General had indeed been in her line of ancestry as rumour would have it. Her dark hair was pulled up into a tight knot, the black dress showed the remainder of a figure that must have caused many a male knee to weaken in her day. Her face was pale however and even her heavy make-up could not conceal the redness of her eyes. Losing a son was not something even a strong woman could easily take. And he knew it was her second in just 12 years. Jack felt his heart clench at this and he stepped towards the lady to greet her at the the bottom of the stairs.

“Ma'am. I'm sorry to disturb you again, but I fear there are still questions that remain to be asked.”

A small, gracious smile lit up the tired face for a split second. Phryne watched on in awe, as Jack actually hinted a kiss on the back of Mrs. Bungard's offered hand. While he always showed respect to all his witnesses, no matter the background, she had never seen him being anything but professional and his sudden gallantry made her wonder what had commanded this behaviour.

“Whatever it takes for you to find out what happened to my son, Inspector.” The lady said most graciously before turning her attention to Miss Fisher, who still stood in the background.

“So who is your friend, Inspector Robinson?”

“May I introduce the Honourable Phryne Fisher.”

The ladies shook hands with the usual decorum, while Jack continued. “She is a private detective with an unfallible instinct.”

Curiously Mrs. Bungard steel grey eyes brushed over the lady in question, then back to Jack.

“Do you deem this necessary, Inspector? I always considered the police force of Melbourne quite capable myself.”

He smiled when he discovered that there was no real aggression in her inquest.

“It is, Mrs. Bungard. And therefore, I will ask you to put your trust in my judgement.”

“That you have, Inspector.”

She smiled at Phryne, who released a breath she had not been aware she'd been holding. For the second time today she was haunted by the feeling, that something was happening that she did not understand the meaning of. They were ushered into the drawing rooms and little later settled with a cup of tea in the most comfortable sofa possible.

“I'm afraid, Inspector, I have little to add to your investigation.” The lady of the house finally spoke, letting the paper thin china cup sink onto the saucer.

“I left my son at around ten to seven, with the intention to retire to my bedroom. This weather is rather hard to bear for me. And that was were I was roused just about an hour later with the news.”

“You had dinner together?”

“A light supper. Then we retreated to the library, where I chattered and he pretended to listen while he was enthralled in Voltaire really.”

A fond smile accompanied her memories. Phryne's astonishment grew when she found the same smile being mirrored on Jack's face.

“He was smoking his terrible cigarettes and drinking that brandy he was so fond of and behaving like a right sodding gentleman. Reminded me of his father, God rest his soul.”

She sighed, still smiling.

“I trust Agnes has given you an exact description of everything we ate last night and emptied her pantry for your men. The library has not been touched since last night, so please feel free to have another look, though I do believe that Constable of yours has taken anything of relevance.”

“I believe he has, Ma'am.”

“So I trust everything is in order. If you will excuse me, my elder son will arrive very soon with his wife and I am in need of some rest.”

“Of course, don't let us keep you.” Jack rose and Margaret Bungard took her leave. The Inspector watched her going, before he turned to his lover.

“Shall we?”

Phryne took his arm and let him lead her into the library. Little had changed, besides the fact that there was no corpse on the floor and someone had had the presence of mind to remove the stain from the floor, before its smell would take over the rest of the house.

“A bit strange, your Mrs. Bungard.” Phryne prodded while having a look at one of the bookcases. Jack looked up in surprise while slipping on his black gloves.

“What makes you say that?”

Phryne pulled out a novel to have a closer look before she answered.

“She seems to have taken her son's death rather well.”

Jack stepped behind her, reaching over her shoulder and pushing _“_ _The Marquis de Sade: An_ _E_ _ssay_ _”_ back onto the shelve.

“I doubt that one will be much help in our investigation, Miss Fisher.”

She smirked cheekily and was reminded by his affectionate stare, that this was not the time or place. 

“And I believe your investigative eye is mistaken about Mrs. Bungard. She was very fond of her son.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I am familiar with the kind of woman she is.”

His smile was nothing short of enigmatic and Miss Fisher had every intention of poking further into the subject, when her attention got drawn in by something in the cold fireplace.

“Jack.”

Under the Inspector's watchful eyes she pulled the balled up remains of a piece of paper from the ashes and unfolded it gently. There was only three words written on the note.

Behind her, she heard Jack sighing.

“Can't people just use English?”

She threw him an amused smirk. Their last case could have been solved only after several days as the last link had been written in Burmese. Jack probably stood a bit closer than strictly necessary and her skin tingled, where he was leaning over her.

“At least it's readable this time.” She pointed out. “And I'm pretty sure I know exactly who can help us with this.”


	5. Peaches

The readers of the big Domed Reading Room at the State Library of Victoria once again looked up in exasperation when a lady detective stormed through their midst, turning on her heels. A faint crease appeared on Miss Fisher's face, when her eyes didn't find what she had been hoping for. But she turned and stalked back out, followed by a dozen pairs of eyes trying to bore through her red blouse and stab her in the back. Detective-Inspector Robinson stood for a moment, then hurried after her. He had kind of expected Riya Santi to _work_ in the library, even though, if he was honest, he could not quite imagine the woman sitting behind a desk cataloguing books. Miss Fisher had already begun to climb the stairs to the balconies and he followed hot on her heels. He didn't catch up to her till he reached the top, finding her standing in front of a coloured glass picture.

“I actually promised I would introduce you at some point.” Her red lips smiled. “Jack, Will. Will, meet Jack.” She was already half down the corridor, when the Inspector still stared at William Shakespeare, trying to catch his breath. “Women, my friend, are complicated.” He pointed out, earning himself a thoughtful, yet cheeky, look by the bard. “But you knew that, didn't you?”

Phryne seemed to still search in vain for her friend, when he joined her. A covered canvas leaning near one of the outside windows was however the only trace they could find of the artist who was usually in the habit of painting here .

“Well, let's see if her work gives us any indications as to where we will find her, shall we?”

Without waiting for an answer she threw the sheet off the canvas and froze. A familiar pair of eyes looked gently down at her. Phryne swallowed in her suddenly dry throat. What on earth was happening? She turned to the Inspector, who seemed amused by her discovery, if somewhat embarrassed.

“I do have my doubts as to that leading us to her.”

Miss Fisher finally found it in herself to speak again.

“Well you certainly left a lasting impression on my friend.” She concluded, pulling the fabric back down. “I think the likeness is perfect.”

She remembered the moment exactly that Riya had caught. It had been at Dot's wedding, when Jack had been standing at Hugh's side in his black tuxedo, looking more dashing than should be allowed in a single man, while the bride had been on her way down the aisle. He had looked at Phryne, realising that in her emotional turmult she had chosen the wrong seat. The memory of the tender smirk he had given her, not being disguised in the slightest by his mock annoyance at her fishing for attention, had made her heart flutter in her chest. And Riya had not only seen it, she had remembered every line of his face and painted it down in perfect resemblance. Miss Fisher resisted the urge to grab the cover and have another look.

“She's not here, Phryne.” She heard Jack say from somewhere further away, where he must have been searching. “Any other ideas?”

“Only one.”

A little later they arrived in the Stawell Gallery. Riya came here, Miss Fisher remembered, when she ran out of ideas, to look at other artist's work in silecne and let her brain settle, as she called it. Only a few students discussed a painting in the corner however; other than that the long room was decidedly empty and completely bereft of eccentric artists. Deflated, Phryne sank onto one of the wooden benches, staring at a landscape. Jack sat down beside her. He hadn't been to the library in years, he realised with a start. Why hadn't he? Probably because he had always been too busy chasing criminals through Melbourne to participate in a life in which he wasn't just Detective-Inspector Robinson. And possibly because life had not been very tempting outside of being Detective-Inspector Robinson either. He glanced at the hot, annoyed face of the Honourable Phryne Fisher, whose lips were currently pulled into something very much resembling the pout of a girl denied her candy and had to bite back a content grin. Life definitely was very tempting now. He rose, stretching out his hand to her.

“Come, we will be back for her later. She can't have dropped off the planet.”

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but I couldn't help overhearing.”

A deep voice made him turn, where a round, friendly face over the collar of a dark uniform stared at Jack curiously. “Are you looking for Mrs. Santi?”

The Inspector nodded, dumbstruck.

“Oh, but it is Thursday. She is never here on Thursdays anymore.”

The man winked and wandered off without waiting for an answer. Jack swallowed, trying to sort what had just happened into his brain. He felt like his grasp on reality had been slipping ever since he had walked through the door into the library. It didn't help that there seemed a light to be switched on on Phyrne's face that very moment.

“It's Thursday? Oh, of course it is. Silly me.”

Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson felt himself being dragged down the stairs by a warm, firm hand before he had quite resurfaced from his musing. And while he had really no idea where she was taking him, he honestly could not bring himself to care.

 

X

 

“I am leaving now, M'm. I shall be back at around five.”

A blank stare from glassy eyes hit the young maid.

“My day off, M'm.” The girl promped. The lady lying on the sun lounge grumbled something inaudible and drained the rest of her glass that Annie knew for a fact, contained a lot more alcohol than one should consume before lunchtime, even if one was stinking rich and had nothing to do. A wave with a jewel-clad hand dismissed her. Annie sighed. She would probably find her mistress drunk and burned upon coming back, having fallen asleep in the scolding sun again. Since Mr. Morton had left, she didn't seem to care about anything much anymore. It had been only a few weeks, but the beauty of Jane Morton was already starting to wither under the influence of too many Martinis and too little sleep. Annie closed the door behind herself gently. You probably couldn't save people from themselves, especially not, if you were only a maid on minimum pay.

 

X

 

“So, are you going to tell me about this mysterious case of yours?” The Inspector asked, trying to find a comfortable position in his seat. Despite the slight lurking of his stomach whenever she took a corner, he found himself glad at Phryne being behind the wheel again. Her almost quiet agreement to let him drive this morning had somewhat worried him. She did not answer straight away.

“No, no, I don't think so.” She finally stated. He threw a look at her that she returned for a split second, before concentrating on the road again.

“My client is rather insistent that she wants absolute confidence, Jack.” There was something very akin to regret swinging in her voice. Then subject and tone changed.

“So, what do you make of your murder, Jack. You are convinced it is a murder, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So, what's bothering you?”

“Besides a murderer running free?” He smirked, then got serious. “There is a cut on the victims hand, pretty deep. And strangely, the bleeding has not been stopped or cleaned away. Seems odd for a man like Charles Bungard to run around with a wound like that without calling for a maid.”

“He might have hurt himself fighting for his life.”

“That's just it. We couldn't find anything he could have cut himself on. There was nothing in the library with his blood on it besides his clothes.”

“The killer might have taken it.”

“Why poison someone and then wait around for him to die?”

They drove on in silence.

“Where are we going?” The Inspector finally asked, when the turn to the Station flew past them.

“Home.”

“Why?”

“Because it is lunch time and a lot cooler there than in your office.”

Jack could not argue with that. He closed his eyes to the sun and enjoyed the ride.

 

X

 

When, on approaching the door, Miss Fisher pulled a key out of her pocket, Jack had trouble hiding his surprise.

“It's Mr. Butler's day off.” She stated, without looking around.

The Inspector closed his eyes in amused recognition.

“Of course. So that is why Mrs. Santi is not working.”

“And knowing Mr. Butler he would make damn sure we can't find them.” Miss Fisher pointed out. 

“I would too, if I was him.” Jack heard himself say, before he could think that statement through.

Heavenly silence greeted them when stepping into the hall. Only a lonely fan spun somewhere, sweeping cool air through the rooms.

“You know,” Jack contemplated, while hanging his hat, “sometimes it would be quite nice to live with only you.”

“Is that so?” Her bemused voice answered and when he turned, he found her in such close proximity that he couldn't help but stare into her eyes which held a familiar sparkle. He swallowed hard, feeling heat wash over his body that had nothing to do with the sun at all.

The loud clearing of a throat made him take an instinctive step backwards, slamming his heel into an wooden edge. Phryne Fisher turned with the sweetest smile on her lips.

“Hello Dot. I thought you are at that bake sale. I distinctly remember Father Grogan was counting on you.”

The maid had the decency to blush.

“Yes, Miss, and I will be off soon. But since Mr. Butler is away, I wondered if you wanted me to set some lunch before I leave.”

Phryne turned towards Jack, sweeping her eyes over him in a glance that made him feel rather naked.

“Yes, I think the Inspector is starving, Dot. Some sandwiches and fruit will do. And then you better get to your sale. I wouldn't want to draw Father Grogan's wrath on me – again.”

The maid bustled off and Jack wasn't sure if he wanted to strangle his lover right here or later, after they had eaten. Surely she couldn't have missed that his hunger was of a rather different nature. His growling stomach reminded him though, that she was right. He was also starving.

They passed the time to luncheon with glasses of lemon-water and quiet chatter over the case in the parlour. As the Inspector described in detail the empty glass of brandy and the exact type of cigarettes, Phryne's attention drifted off, till he returned to the witnesses.

“Mrs. Bungard is an interesting lady, isn't she?”

The Inspector appeared a bit thrown by her sudden statement.

“And there I thought she was not in deep enough mourning for your taste.”

Miss Fisher played with a detail of her blouse, trying to figure out how to ask what she burned to know, without giving herself away. She didn't need to.

“She reminds me of my mother.” Jack said levelly. Phyne's eyes flew up at this. She knew he had lost his mother several years ago, but he didn't talk about her a lot.

“She must have died a hundred quiet deaths, while my brother and I were overseas. I remember, after I got wounded, I received a letter from her. Didn't say much about her worries; I recall it being rather upbeat in tone actually, but the hand holding the pen had shaken so hard that I could barely make out her writing.”

Miss Fisher reached out and wove her fingers through his. To her surprise though, there was no real sadness, just a sort of fond melancholy.

“So, Miss Fisher, don't be fooled by the appearance of calmness in Mrs. Bungard. A woman like her is more likely to found a charity for the victims of poison, than to shed a single tear in public, but the love for her sons runs deep. Her eldest fell in 1918, just a week before the war ended. Now she only has the one left.”

Jack smiled a thin smile and pulled himself up, without letting go of Phryne's hand.

Dot had, even in a hurry, done her Mistress proud and produced a platter of small sandwiches and an overflowing fruit bowl luring them with cherries and peaches, grapes and plums. The smell of freshly cut water melon hung in the air, making Jack's stomach take a leap. He pulled out Phryne's chair, while Dot took her leave and slipped onto the seat next to her at the head of the table. It was slightly strange, how he had ended up here by very much being _not_ the master of the house, it occurred to him briefly. 

“I believe, those are a particular favourite of yours.” Phryne grinned, after she took a bite from one of the sandwiches. Jack, who was currently busy tasting a refreshingly cool rose wine and dimly wondering if it was a good idea to drink in this heat and the middle of the day, looked up.

“Ham, cheese and mustard pickle. Without a side of ghosts this time, though.”

The Inspector took a hearty bite and chewed, before answering.

“And without any suspicious men making their way into your boudoir hopefully.”

“Oh, I don't know about that.”

The glimmer in her eyes was back as she tasted a piece of watermelon. Jack's eyes followed a droplet of juice escape and make it's way down her chin and throat. He swallowed, fighting back the urge to jump her in a most ungentlemanlike manner and lick the drop from her skin. And damn her, of course she had noticed his irises going dark. He cleared his throat.

“I rather hope to have a word in the matter this time, Miss Fisher.”

“Let me tell you a secret, Inspector.” She said, dipping her voice to a mere whisper that seemed to make every hair on his body tingle. “Had you chosen to give into temptation then, I would have much rather taken you to my bedroom than Warwick Hamilton.”

A grape vanished between her red lips. Jack couldn't think of an answer. A thousand thoughts were presently racing through his head, fighting for the upper hand with his emotions.

“I always wondered...” He finally said weakly, trailing off.

She smiled at this, chewing seemingly absent-mindedly on a cherry.

“What is that?”

Jack licked his lips, remembering his pain and confusion when he had found out that she had spent the night with a suspect in his murder-case.

“Why exactly you chose to bed him. He was not that interesting a man, in my personal humble opinion. Was it for the case?”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I'm not completely denying ulterior motives, Inspector. However, they might not have been quite as professional as you seem to have concluded.”

Before the Inspector could even form an idea, a sensation to his body asked for his full attention. A stocking covered foot brushed over the inside of his thigh, sending sparks flying. His eyes shot up, but Miss Fisher was innocently chewing on her sandwich. He tried for an even tone of voice, and failed, when asking: “You were trying to provoke me?”

This was answered by her toes, running up the inside of his leg to almost dangerous territory, without her so much as moving in her chair or glancing at him.

“That would be a possibility.” Phryne smiled calmly, seemingly oblivious to his sudden loss of breath. “Or I might have just enjoyed flustering you.”

Jack's hand clenched around the corner of the wooden table, as her foot slowly withdrew. He was currently attempting to find a shred of anger at her blatant confession to have played him, but there seemed to be too little left of his brain to accomplish that. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to calm his racing heartbeat.

“Are you alright, Jack. You look quite hot.”

Her voice was innocence itself. He opened his lids, plastering a smile to his face.

“Perfectly fine, Miss Fisher. Just lost in fond memories.”

He kept eating, changing the subject back to the case with some difficulty. Miss Fisher seemed reluctant to follow at first but she could not resist the temptation of murder and so they got almost through their luncheon without further incidents. Despite his calm exterior Jack could feel every muscle in his body aching in unresolved tension. It reminded him somewhat of the time before he was able to just claim her kiss when he felt like it, spending a year and a half constantly strung up between frustration and ecstasy. The Inspector longed to finally leave this table, preferably to get some cold water on his body before he needed to return to the station to hunt a murderer. He also felt awfully hot, even though he had at some point disposed of the outer layers of his propriety uniform somewhat revelling in the fact that she actually did forget to eat then - if only for a moment. Picking up his glass to drain it, Jack almost lost his mind when a very intent foot applied to a very sensitive part of him, sent a bolt of lightning through his entire body. For a moment he thought he might fall over the edge right then, as he threw back his head with a groan that seemed to echo off the walls. Cold liquid dripping down the front of his shirt hardly managed to calm his excitement. Jack dimly remembered the wine he had been attempting to drink and his shaky fingers managed to set the now empty glass onto the dining table. When he looked up from his task, Miss Fisher was leaning over him, undoing his tie while she murmured something about needing to get him out of the shirt, before it stained. He couldn't have cared less about the shirt if he tried. Getting to his feet, he grasped her head into a passionate kiss, pressing his body against hers with every single shred of insanity that was left in his brain. Their tongues wrestled in a wet mess that tasted faintly of wine and watermelon, as he lifted her thigh to wrap her around himself and show her exactly, what she was doing to him. She groaned into his mouth in response, causing his hip to jerk involuntarily. There were still too many clothes and way too much distance to any bedroom he could remember, but right now, he seemed unable to worry about any of that, as his fingers ran over her body, trying to memorize every inch of her. Phryne's hands were busily solving the first problem he noticed, as cool air brushed over his chest, before she bit into the skin of his shoulder with less than tenderness, making him lose every rest of coherent thought. And so his fuzzy mind was hardly involved as he picked her up and lifted her onto the edge of the table, paying little care to the collection of crystal and china before launching onto her throat. If Miss Fisher was surprised by his sudden boldness, she didn't mind; her moans vibrating through the pit of his stomach and the nails running down his naked back leaving him shivering. 

Jack took possession of her mouth again, pushing her backwards and ridding her of her blouse with trashing fingers. How the other layers of clothes between them had vanished, he had no idea, but they had, no doubt owing to Phryne's clever fingers and when he sank into her, he thought his knees would buckle underneath him. They didn't however and fruits and glass went flying as they crashed onto the table that had never seen such mistreatment before. They were too lost in each other and the moment to care in the slightest about the spilled wine and the leftover food melding into their hot skin, as they raced for the edge together, tumbling almost simultaneously.

Panting and covered in a thin layer of sweat, Jack resurfaced, only slightly surprised to find himself completely naked on a dining table that he would never again sit at without blushing and holding the most beautiful creature in his arms that he had ever seen, with a squished peach stuck in her hair. He pulled her closer for a kiss and Phryne's content smirk turned to confusion at a giddy, breathless giggle escaping his throat. She joined in however, when he gently peeled a flat sandwich from her back and stated: “Definitely a particular favourite, Miss Fisher.”


	6. Watermelon

Despite the cool bath the Inspector had taken to remove the residue of the most exciting lunch of his lifetime from his skin, he already felt sweaty again when he entered the City South Police Station. Constable Collins greeted him before returning to typing some report and Jack wondered briefly, if people could actually see the giddiness that was still bubbling underneath his three piece suit. Thank God he had not been to the Station this morning or he might have to actually explain his change of clothes. Stains of mashed up watermelon on your pants was rather hard to explain away, just as a wine soaked shirt and he rather hoped that Dorothy Collins did not talk to her husband about the laundry she took care of. Miss Fisher had chosen to take up her own investigations. Before however, she had promised, she would make an effort to remove the obvious evidence of their little encounter from the dining room, as to not give any of her staff a heart attack. Not that he really imagined Mr. Butler being easily embarrassed. The Inspector however would like to still be able to look into the other man's eyes without turning the shade of a tomato tomorrow. They had only smashed one glass in the whole encounter, which was rather less than was to be expected and even Phryne's blouse might be salvaged. His own shirt however was beyond hope; he was quite sure of that and hardly ever in his life had this conclusion brought a grin to his face like today. On the verge of whistling the Inspector fell onto his chair and sorted through the paperwork that had collected there throughout his morning of absence.

“Collins?” He yelled after a moment.

The red face of his Constable showed in the door after mere seconds.

“Sir?”

“Did the Coroner's report come through yet?”

“Just then, Sir, I'll bring it in.”

A moment later he was back, stretching out a hand with the folder. Jack took it and flew over it.

“Right. Nothing unexpected.”

“So was he poisoned, Sir?”

“Yes. Arsenic and a lot of it. As I imagined.”

Hugh stood, obviously waiting for an explanation.

“Arsenic is usually known for it's slow appliance, Constable, but from the first symptom to kill in 45 minutes, it must have been used in a very high doses. Which it was.”

Jack looked up.

“Did we get the results on the food yet, Collins.”

“It should be somewhere here, Sir.”

Jack pondered for a moment, how quickly the wheels of justice suddenly turned, when someone very rich, overly important and rather famous got murdered, while the Constable riffled through the files on his desk, pulling one of them out triumphantly.

“Here we go, Sir.”

Again, Detective-Inspector Robinson read quickly through the results, then he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap and looking rather serious.

“Anything wrong, Sir?”

“The arsenic was in the brandy, the most obvious place. This is all rather neat.”

“Isn't that good?”

A furrow appeared in the Inspectors brow.

“It seems rushed. Usually, when a murderer chooses poison he goes through the trouble of hiding it. That is the whole point of arsenic. You kill slow and without getting caught. Our killer didn't care. And a careless murderer is very dangerous, Constable.”

Hugh swallowed at this, droplets of sweat appearing on his forehead.

“So it is not good?” He asked slowly.

“No, I fear this is not good at all.”

 

X

 

Slowly, attentively Phryne followed the path winding through the greenery of the park. The water of the Yarra glittered in the sun, kids laughed in the distance. This was a peaceful place. Not what you expected from the scene of such a crime. She tried to remember the exact place Mac had told her to look for. It took her a little while, but finally she found it. A little bend, almost hidden by the branches of hanging trees, where the Riverside was covered in small rocks and dry wood. The perfect place for jetsam to catch. Including young girls who had been raped and beaten over the head then thrown into the river and left for dead. Phryne felt nauseous at the thought. Nevertheless she crouched into the grass that was faintly green here rather than resembling the dry yellow covering most of the hills in this heat. She was not sure what she hoped to find after two month. And if there was anything to find then the police would have hopefully picked it up. It hadn't been City South, probably North, but Mac hadn't been sure and neither had been Emily. Phryne had the distinct feeling that she might have to take Jack into her confidence after all. The truth was, she ached to share this with him. All the pain that their cases brought along with them, the desperation, the anger, was easier to bear when they could talk it away over a tumbler of whisky. It had been like that a long time before she had allowed herself to love him, maybe even before she had called him a friend. It was probably what had made them allies to start with, more so even than the fact that the combination of their sharp minds and different methods and abilities made hunting for criminals just that much easier. Phryne took a deep breath into her lungs and pulled herself upright. It was actually quite nice here and if Emily's dark eyes hadn't haunted here, she could have enjoyed the shade and the quiet sound of the Yarra splashing against its banks.

She smelled the man before she could see him. Next she heard the hiccup, as he shuffled closer. Phryne smiled, trying to not breath through her nose.

“Nicespotaintit?” The old beggar mumbled.

“Very peaceful, too.” Miss Fisher said, without turning. Shoeless Jim came to a halt beside her on the grass, the lady detective and the beggar starring in silence together onto the glittering surface of the Yarra.

“Hereboutthegirlareya?”

“Maybe.” Phryne smiled. “Or I could just enjoy the view.”

The old man grumbled at this, hiccing quietly and took a sip from a bottle of unknown description.

“Well, ifyadecidedimighthavesomthinforya.” He finally chose to state, without tearing his eyes from a passing rowing boat.

“What's the price?” Miss Fisher asked, finding to her surprise, that he actually turned to look at her sharply.

“Ainteverythinginthewordlboutmoney.”

Jim spat on the floor near her feet, obviously not happy with her accusation, but careful to not hit her shoes. Miss Fisher stayed silent, hiding her surprise well.

“Notrightwhathappenedtoher.”

“No, it isn't. You gonna help me?”

“Depends.” The Beggar mumbled.

“On?”

“Ifthathelpsya.”

He stretched out a grubby hand and dropped a small pin into her palm. Then he turned, his bare feet shuffling over the grass. Miss Fisher looked after him. He was almost out of sight, when she remembered.

“Hey, Jimmy!”

He spun, wondering if she would accuse him of stealing from dead people after all.

“Thank you.”

What happened next was a very complicated motion of face muscles trying to move in a pattern they had long since forgotten. But Miss Fisher recognised the attempt at a smile, before Jimmy vanished behind the greenery. His smell stayed a little longer.

 

X

 

Detective-Inspector Robinson shuffled his papers like a deck of cards. Chewed on his lips. Stared at the wall. He knew he was waiting, but he had no idea what for. Quiet chatter seeped through the door. He recognised Mrs. Cooper's voice. In all probability her neighbour had stolen her washing again and Constable Collins would spend the next 15 Minutes writing down in distinct detail the description of her flowery dresses and linen sheets, before sorting the report onto a pile that was by now at least two inches thick, to ignore it till she'd call in two days time, having finally remembered where she had left her laundry basket. Policework was mostly really quite dull, the DI found himself thinking. He leaned back in his chair, twirling a pencil between his fingers and pondering. After the first excitement had worn off, something felt weird about the encounter earlier. The memories of their passionate lunch were still quite strong and he enjoyed them, but he couldn't help but feel there was something peculiar about them. As if Phryne had pushed to see how far he'd bend before breaking. He reran their conversation in his mind and at the moment he encountered no problem with being annoyed with her for manipulating him. Though he still hadn't decided if she had tried to provoke a reaction or had just tested if she could hurt him by sleeping with someone else right under his nose. Jack wasn't quite sure either, if she had realised how deeply she'd cut him.

He sighed, dropping the pencil onto his desk. There was no point in brooding about this subject now. It had been a long time ago and things had changed. The pain was lost to memory. Yet he didn't like the idea of being played.

The phone rang into the middle of this thought. He suddenly knew exactly what he had been waiting for. There had been another murder.

 

X

 

 

Miss Fisher laid down the pin in the middle of her dining table. Then she proceeded to fold her arms on the surface, before bedding her chin on them and staring the platinum piece down in a form of silent stand-off. It would talk to her. Eventually. It had to.

She probably could have asked Jack if he recognised it, but then again, he was preoccupied with the murder of Charles Bungrad. That and she assumed, he might be in need of a break. A small, content smirk appeared around her red lips as she recalled the events on this very table just a few hours ago. Not quite the reaction she had anticipated from the Inspector, but then again, she was certainly not complaining. Miss Fisher stopped herself from slipping into daydreams of an erotic nature, reminding herself that there was still a piece of evidence lying in front of her, ready to be deciphered. She picked the tie pin up, again looking at the three wavy lines that formed some sort of emblem, running her fingertips over it. Maybe a rowing club? Then again, the spot Emily had been found wasn't far off some boathouses. There was a fair possibility, that some completely uninvolved bystander had lost the pin there. But Shoeless Jim had been sure and there wasn't much happening in the back alleys and parks of this city that he didn't know about. Maybe she should have asked him, what exactly he had witnessed. Miss Fisher sighed, laying the silvery pin back onto the tabletop and spinning it softly. It glittered in the light.

Damn it, she would just ask. She jumped to her feet, grabbing the pin to slip it into her pocket, while grabbing her hat with the other, when she heard a key turn in the lock. So it happened, that Mr. Butler, upon pushing the front door open, found himself eye to eye with his employers dark bob. He had the decency to look at least slightly shocked, before his usual calmness returned. Behind him, hardly hiding a giggle, stood Riya Santi, today in a cloud of blue fabric, that did nothing at all to conceal her amazing figure.

“Phryne! How lovely to see you.”

She pushed past the still a bit stunned looking Tobias Butler to pull her friend into a firm hug. Slightly overwhelmed, Phryne retreated a few steps to let her servant enter the house.

“A lot of enthusiasm for the fact, that you did an awfully good job of avoiding my company over the last few weeks.” She scolded with no real sincerity.

“Oh my Phryne, don't be like that. You know, young love needs room. I'm certainly not wanting to sit on the sofa between you and your Inspector either.”

Riya gave her a cheeky wink and Miss Fisher felt a strange sensation on her cheeks that reminded her of an oncoming blush. And what was worse, there seemed to be a slight shade of red creeping over Mr. Butler's features as well. He was just about to retreat quietly into the kitchen, when Miss Fisher remembered something.

“I'm actually in need of your help professionally. Well, Jack is, really.”

Intrigued the couple followed the detective into her parlour, where she started searching through her bookshelf, finally pulling out a leather bound version of “Inside The Criminal Mind”, which seemed rather fitting for the piece of paper she was looking for.

“Hold onto this for a second, will you, Mr. B.?”

With that she thrust the pin into the servants palm and slipped out the book, to flick it open, where she had put the piece of evidence found in the fireplace in the morning. She handed the crumpled sheet to her friend.

“This was discovered earlier today at a murder scene. Young man poisoned with arsenic, rather ghastly affair” She said conversationally, putting the book back in its place. Riya studied the three words carefully. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Mr. Butler cleared his throat.

“Miss, may I ask where you got this from?”

The women turned, to see him holding up the tie pin between his forefinger and thumb.

“Please don't think me curious, but if I am not mistaken, this belongs to a gentlemen's club. One I do not see the Inspector being a member of. No offence, Miss Fisher.“

“Mr. B, you are a treasure!”

To Mr. Butler's astonishment, but not discomfort, his employer flew up to him and left a big red lipstick mark on his cheek, right under the laughing eyes of Mrs. Santi.

 

X

 

She didn't look happy. That was the first thought that crossed Inspector Robinson's mind when he approached the sunlounge on which Jane Morton was still lying . Of course, there was not reason for a woman who had just been strangled, to look happy. None at all. But nevertheless he bent over the corpse's bluish tinged features with the distinct feeling, that the lady in question had not lived a happy life. The cause of death was quite obvious in a still present sling of rope wrapped around the victim's neck. Jack checked for marks underneath it anyway, just out of routine and wasn't sure if to be relieved or annoyed when he found them there, in all their blue and red beauty. Around the distorted features it swirled an abundance of dark curls that lay in a perfect due and made a somewhat awkward contrast. A light trickle of blood had dried under the victim's nose, telling him, together with the cooling skin, that she had been dead for some hours. Murdered in the middle of the day, in her own garden. He shuddered slightly, getting back to his feet and letting his eyes wander over the well-groomed garden, surrounded by high hedges, that would make finding witnesses about impossible. In the middle of the park-sized greenery sat a rather impressive mansion, built in classical style, like a hen on its nest. It definitely didn't look like Jane Morton had had any financial problems. Then again, where there was money, there was easily motives and suspects to be found. The Inspector was about to walk over to the crying maid, who was currently interviewed by Hugh Collins, when a hunch made him turn back to the resting corpse and crouch down again. Gently he uncurled the stiffening fingers. His blood ran cold when he recognised the two deep cuts across Jane Morton's palm.


	7. Plums

“Thank you, my darling.”

Miss Fisher watched in awkward amazement, as Riya accepted the glass of Martini from Mr. Butler's hand without looking up. It was really hard to tell if he was embodying a servant taking care of her guest right now or Riya Santi's lover bringing a drink to his sweetheart.

“I can't quite wrap my head around it.” The older woman finally said, shaking Phryne out of her thoughts. “Those first two are rather clear, but the third is wrong.”

When two pairs of eyes stared at her in confusion, she decided to explain.

“Those are names. Well the first two are. There is an old Buddhist Symbol of the three monkeys, who are standing for the virtues of staying away from evil. The first one here, Mizaru, doesn't look at evil, Kikazaru doesn't listen to evil, but Mazaru... makes no sense at all. It means blending, mixing in Japanese.”

Seeking help, she looked up at Tobias Butler who forgot his position and sank down onto the love seat beside her to have his own look. Phryne suppressed a smirk and chose to stay quiet.

“Stirring up evil?”

“Rather stirring up no evil. Though I do not believe it translates that easily. Possibly 'Don't mix with evil'.” Riya pointed out.

“Maybe a warning for Jack to stay away?” Phryne frowned, trying to not go down that train of thought. The Inspectors trade of work was dangerous enough without a killer focusing his attention on him.

“Didn't you say it was found in the fireplace, Miss? Well, someone must have disposed of it there.” Mr. Butler cut in, enthusiastically absorbed in being involved in the sleuthing for once. “If it was meant for the Inspector's eyes, surely the murderer would have left it on display.”

Phryne let that sink in and tried to ignore the relief she felt.

“You are completely right, Mr. Butler. So it was not meant for the police, but for the victim – or his mother.”

“Mr. Bungard might have been on the trail of someone's wrong doing?” Mrs. Santi stated slowly, twirling a dark lock of hair between her fingers.

Mr. Butler seemed to suddenly remember what he was employed for.

“I'm so sorry Miss, I realise I am running late for the preparation of dinner. Please excuse me.”

He was out of the parlour before Miss Fisher could point out that it was still technically his day off. On his way to the kitchen, his well polished shoe kicked against something that shot with a quiet clanking noise over the floorboards. Mr. Butler stepped closer and picked up a shard of broken glass, a part of the expensive crystal nevertheless, then stared of the remains of a squished grape that Miss Fisher's housekeeping experiment had missed. He started, frowned, glanced at the polished wooden tabletop. Then a knowing smile spread over his face before he, whistling under his breath, proceeded to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

 

X

 

“Miss Strangewater?”

Annie turned and saw a serious looking policeman in civilian clothing approach. She had noticed him earlier, inspecting the body of her Mistress and something about the way he held himself, told her that he was the highest ranking officer here before he even had time to introduce himself.

“Inspector Robinson. You found the deceased?”

She watched the crease between his brows, as he opened the notebook in which the Constable who had interviewed her, had scribbled earlier. She nodded, realising a second too late that he could not see her face while reading. Annie Strangewater cleared her throat.

“Yes. I had the afternoon off to see to my grandmother and on returning home I was looking for my Mistress and spotted her in the garden, just where I left her. She was already cold.”

She shuddered.

“You left at five past eleven? That seems a weird time to be lying outside in this heat.” The man stated. The maid hopped on the spot, a weird habit she had developed walking on eggshells for too many years. Then she pulled her face into a painful grimace.

“I do not want to speak bad about my Mistress, Sir.”

A pair of grey eyes fixed her with a stare that was serious but not malicious, threatening her resolve somewhat.

“This is not about criticising your employer, Miss Strangewater, it is about finding out who killed her.” Detective-Inspector Robinson explained patiently. His voice was of a deep, warm shade, turning Annie's resistance into pudding.

“To be completely honest, Sir, Mrs. Morton was behaving quite strangely ever since her husband left.” The maid finally confessed, finding the compromise of staring at the floor with a slight blush to her features, while she broke her silence. “She also managed to scare the other maids away. There was only me left and Regina, who is the cook – she hardly ever leaves her kitchen though - and Mrs. Brandon, the housekeeper, who is half deaf and lives in her own little world. I think she might not have noticed Mr. Morton's leaving yet.”

The shadow of a smirk ghosted over the Inspectors features at her joke. Annie felt strangely flattered by that, but remembered the seriousness of their little chat and stopped herself from smiling, as she watched the Inspector shove his booklet into the pocket of his topcoat – a dark grey piece that he wore like an armour, despite the heat of the early evening.

“How did that strange behaviour express itself?”

“She just didn't seem to care about much anymore. You need to understand, Mrs. Morton was a very proud, beautiful woman before it all fell apart and then when her husband up and left, she just stopped seeing anyone. She didn't wear her pretty dresses anymore. I think some days she hardly found the strength to get out of bed. And...” Annie was embarrassed by this, but something about the man made it feel right to tell him all your secrets. “...if you want my honest opinion, Inspector, she was a bit too fond of her Martinis, too.”

The policeman nodded understanding.

“So her marriage ended recently?”

“Yes, and strangely, I would not have deemed them unhappy till my Master left.”

Wrinkling up her nose in thought, which made her look rather cute, she had been told in the past, the maid pondered how to express the sudden blow-up of the harmonious marriage.

“When was that?”

“Maybe about four weeks ago, give or take. He just up and left one morning after an argument, where they yelled down the walls.”

“You didn't happen to hear what it was about?”

The maid shook her head slowly. “It was mostly just yelling. Insults. He called her stupid, she called him insensitive. The usual.”

She underlined this with a nod that indicated to the Inspector, that she was experienced in witnessing domestic bliss of the sort.

“Well, thank you Miss Strangewater. I trust you gave my Constable all details, names and such? Then we are done here.”

“Everything he asked for.” The maid stated with a hint of pride and was rewarded by another tiny smile of the policeman. He really did have nice eyes, Annie found herself thinking and hurried off after a quick apology, before the blush could become too obvious.

Jack watched her bustle off with a fond smile. Servants had their particular usefulness in murder cases. They always knew more about the deceased than any friend could ever realise. He shuddered at the thought, what Mr. Butler might have to tell the police about him upon his own murder.

'The Inspector? Oh he had a tendency to have relations with my Mistress all over the house. Most recently the dining table. Didn't even clean up after himself. Most shameful behaviour.'

The thought of his most shameful behaviour let a blissful shudder run down Jack's spine. It was silly how such a little erotic adventure made him feel like he was walking on clouds, despite the gravity of the situation. He had looked a hundred killers in the eye, quite often down the barrel of a gun from the receiving end and yet, squishing watermelon and plums into his skin turned out to be an adventure that made his stomach flutter.

“Sir?”

Jack wiped the involuntary smile of his face, before turning to Constable Collins.

“I found what you were looking for.” He stated gravely, extending a hand to the Inspector. DI Robinson took the piece of paper carefully and unfolded it, staring at three familiar words that still didn't mean a thing to him.

“What is it sir?” Collins asked quietly.

“It's a promise, Constable, that there are more deaths to come.”

He looked up into two eyes the size of dinner plates.

“A serial killer, Sir?”

Jack shoved the paper into his pocket with his notebook for later inspection.

“Afraid so, Collins.”

Hopefully, Phryne had found Mrs. Santi by now and was deciphering the secret as they spoke. Serial killers were ghastly, but this one was strange. There was so little method to the killing, so little theater. And he was fast. Jack looked at his watch. Dinnertime. By now he had hoped to be long home. He sighed.

“I think we are done, Collins, let's head back to the station.”

They made it as far as the door, when they spotted a breathless Annie Strangewater running after them.

“Sir! There's the Station on the phone for you. I believe it is urgent.”

Detective-Inspector Robinson's jaw clenched. He really _was_ very fast.

 

X

 

 

With admirably little shakiness, Mrs. Riya Santi climbed out of the red convertible.

“I must admit, Phryne, the one thing I do not possess is a beautiful, fast car. It is something to be considered.”

Miss Fisher was not sure if she should be insulted. Usually her driving skills in combination with the Hispano-Suiza had more effect on her passengers. She settled for: “It is definitely something every woman should possess. Even though men tend to think differently.”

“Considering your driving style I cannot blame them.” Mrs. Santi laughed, somewhat to the detectives relief.

Miss Fisher was only listening with half an ear however, while she was busy studying the impressive facade of the “Poseidon Club”. Her eyes lingered over the door, from where the quite masculine and rather naked God of the Sea watched her with a marble stare.

“Not bad.” She stated, slamming her car door shut. “I guess this is how the gentlemen patronising this club would like to consider their appearance.”

“Well, there is no point in arguing with delusions Phryne. Shall we?”

With a smirk, Mrs. Santi offered her arm and so the two women marched right through the front door, much to the astonishment of the doorman, who had been half asleep behind his desk up to a moment ago.

“Madams, you can't... Please. This is a gentlemen's club.” He rose, running towards them.

“And gentlemen are just what we are looking for.” Phryne said sweetly, without letting go of Riya's arm.

“But women aren't allowed in here. It's men only.” He pointed out, his face puffing up in distress.

“Oh, nonsense. This world is shared by men and women, what makes you think this place is any different?” Riya Santi declared and was about to march on, when the man grabbed Phryne's arm in a last frantic attempt to stop them. She glared at him, which made him release her without a second thought.

“What's going on here, William?” A sharp male voice asked. All three turned. The doorman, by now sweating profoundly opened his mouth to speak, when recognition dawned on a tall stranger's face.

“Mrs. Santi. My God, how long has it been?”

“Admiral Winterbottom. How lovely to see you again.” The older lady said graciously, pulling Miss Fisher with herself, as she stepped up to the man to greet him. The Admiral was a dashing man, even though there showed first strains of grey in his almost black hair and he had currently swapped his uniform against a lounge coat and was holding a pipe in the fingers that weren't busy greeting Riya with a kiss to the hand. Two sharp, green eyes turned towards Phryne.

“I'm sorry, Ms. I don't think we have met.”

“May I introduce my friend, the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher.”

“Charmed, I'm sure.” The man smiled, proving this by bringing Phryne's hand to his lips. His immaculately cut beard tickled lightly upon their almost touch. Only then did he seem to realise, that the doorman was still hovering in the background.

“It's alright, William, I'm sure the ladies will not corrupt this establishment with their presence. Quite the opposite, I would suspect.”

He winked at the women, before offering both his arms and leaving the still speechless William behind, before the poor man had had a chance to close his mouth. Heavy cigar smoke and chatter swept towards them, as they approached something that reminded Phryne very much of her parlour at home, if in a rather ghastly shade of green. When the threesome entered the room, the noise suddenly dropped, along with some jaws. But Admiral Winterbottom didn't have it in his nature to be questioned in his judgement and with his head held high, he escorted both his lovely ladies to a remote corner, where a handful of gentlemen were seated in front of a variety of highly alcoholic drinks, playing a game of cards. A young man, who would later be introduced as Samuel Carter, glanced up at the new arrivals and blushed furiously. Miss Fisher felt sorry for him; he looked hardly old enough to have graduated. The rest of the collected players seemed to have already seen beautiful women before and were welcoming the newcomers with a variety of displayed emotions, that ranged between curiosity and annoyance. One of them Phryne recognised as a charming politician by the name of John Morell. The other two the Admiral introduced as Dr. James Wincliff - although a doctor of what seemed rather questionable considering the evil grin he produced under his grey moustache, which made him look like a villain in a silent movie – and Mr. Bertram Howards, a serious, but handsome man with eyes in a dark shade of blue, that intrigued Phryne despite his cheekbones giving the appearance of having been cut with a knife. The detective's guess had been right, Sam had just ventured out into the big wild world, after graduating from Melbourne University in something that nobody but himself appeared to understand the meaning of. After the pleasantries were exchanged and the women had found room between the men in the collection of moss green armchairs, Mr. Morell leaned back in his cushions, lighting a cigar and smirking. 

“Don't consider me curious, ladies, but what could be the reason for you to storm a gentlemen's club tonight? There must be men enough in the city not wearing their slippers.” He smiled a trained, warm smile, that Phryne returned with the same insincere friendliness.

“You are right, Mr. Morell, I am not here for male company, even though it is charming.” She winked at Sam, who turned an even darker shade of pink. “I am investigating in my function as a private detective. I would like to know if anyone here remembers this girl?”

She pulled a picture out of her pocket and handed it to John Morell, who threw his forehead in a complicated pattern of creases but shook his head in silence and handed it to Winterbottom. He studied it for a moment and then denied and passed it on to Howards, who stared at it stoically for a brief second, before handing on further.

“May I ask, what is the secret of the pretty young lady?” The doctor enquired, when the picture finally arrived in his fingers. “Why are you searching for her?”

The two women traded a look.

“I fear, that is not information we can share.” Riya Santi said nonchalantly. “Someone is looking for her, but the details are confidential. Absolute discretion, you will understand, gentlemen.”

A round of nods was the only answer to this. These were rich, influential, well known people. They depended on the discretion of those in their service and valued it highly. Listening to the slight twist on the truth Mrs. Santi had spun, Phryne witnessed from the corner of her eye the picture arriving in Sam Carters hands. To her surprise, his eyes widened in shock, before he caught himself.

“Sorry, Miss, I don't know her.” He mumbled, before draining his whiskey, barely avoiding a coughing attack.

“Well, my young friend, we will have to work on your drinking skill.” Admiral Winterbottom teased, clapping him on the back. Mr. Carter looked like he wanted to die rather than work on any skills, but he picked up the cards again, while the Admiral organized some drinks for the ladies, insisting that they stayed for at least a glass of brandy and a chat. Riya seemed only too happy to oblige and soon they were deep in an animated conversation. Phryne used the opportunity to let her eyes sweep over the room undisturbed. She felt the pin burn in her pocket, yet she spotted the same design everywhere. Some on the coats of familiar faces, the rich and famous of Melbourne, some on men that seemed to have stumbled into the “Poseidon Club” by accident – a small mishap that would doubtlessly have cost them a long time on a waiting list and some good connections. Not a single man looked like he had ever known hunger or despair in his life. Mr. Butler had been quite right. Jack didn't belong here. And thank God for that. She drained her drink and got up to get her glass refilled at the bar, dimly pondering what step to take next. The barman looked at her strangely but did not refuse to serve her. Just when her fingers wrapped around the reassuringly cool glass, a cough in her back made her turn around.

“I'm sorry, Miss. I did not mean to scare you.”

Samuel Carter looked still quite red in the face. If anything the colour had deepened into a lovely plum shade. Phryne smiled.

“I fear, Mr. Cater that would be quite impossible to accomplish. Now, how can I help you?”

He chewed on his lower lip again, drawing a drop of blood this time.

“The photograph Miss, I believe I've seen her before.”

Miss Fisher's smile grew broader.

“Well, in that case I think you should join me for a drink and a chat.” When she patted invitingly on the bar stool beside her, Sam looked like he was ready to faint, but complied all the same. Phryne Fisher found that her evening was definitely picking up. Information and a good-looking young man struck by her charms. What else could she ask for?

 


	8. Grapefruit

When the twilight gave the view onto the mansion free and DI Jack Robinson realised, just why the address had sounded so familiar, his breath hitched in his chest. He knew who lived in this house and that meant he also had an inkling, who had died.

With shaky knees he climbed out of his car, ignoring Collins, who asked questions he didn't want to answer right now and waltzed up to the front door that stood wide open, spitting policemen out like a beehive. He grabbed a young Constable's arm, asking for direction and was sent to the sitting room. Sure enough, the corpse was lying between the window and the piano on the timber floor, a big red stain on his shirt pointing towards the bullet that had ended Sidney Fletcher's life abruptly. 

Half hidden in the flowery pattern of the sofa cushions sat someone that looked only faintly like the woman Jack had known for half his life. Silent tears were running down her cheeks, while she stared at her dead husband's body in complete stony stillness. Despite her appearance Jack couldn't help but feel relief wash over him. 

“Rosie?”

Ignoring his duties as a police Inspector, Jack crouched down in front of his former wife and grasped her hands. They were cold, almost freezing, despite the heat of the night. His touch seemed to wake her up. She flinched, then gave the faintest hint of a smile when she realised who was trying to comfort her.

“Jack? He's dead! Shot right before my eyes.” Suddenly her tears weren't silent at all anymore. Shaking with sobs she broke down. Jack Robinson found himself on the sofa, cradling the head of his ex-wife against his shoulder, that slowly went damp with the seemingly never ending stream of tears. People bustled around beside them. Jack tried to suppress his discomfit. A murder scene was far from a private place where he really wanted to comfort anyone and the fact that the sobbing woman in his arms was his former spouse didn't help matters in the slightest. Seeking help, he looked at Hugh Collins, who only shrugged, before returning his attention to the housekeeper, who had heard the shots being fired. Gently Jack stroked the woman's hair, as her sobs grew quiet and finally stopped.

“Rosie?” He whispered. She nodded into his shoulder. “I think it would be for the better if you get some rest.”

With some effort, he pulled her from the sofa and escorted her into the hall, then steered her towards the stairs, when she stopped. Jack, who had already resigned himself to the whispers that would be shared at the Station tomorrow about him bringing his freshly widowed ex to bed, halted in surprise, when she stood frozen, looking at him with big, bright eyes.

“Excuse me.” With that she ran out of the house. Jack sighed, but followed her nevertheless. He found her retching up her dinner into the lovely rosebushes winding up the red brick walls. Laying a hand against the small of her back, he waited till she had finished. For a while they stood silently.

“I'm sorry.” She finally said, attempting a smile. “Falling apart was not part of my plan for the evening.”

Jack shook his head slowly.

“Don't apologize. You just lost your husband, Rosie.”

She took his hand and pressed it gently. Silence invaded the moment. The sun took the opportunity to sink behind the horizon. Policemen ran past them in a mess of busy activity like a swarm of ants.

“I don't think I can go back in there.” Rosie finally said quietly.

Jack didn't answer. He only nodded. Then he called Constable Jones, who happened to stand near by and gave order to bring Rosie down to the station and get her a cup of tea. It was for the moment the best he could do. That, and find out who had murdered his successor.

 

X

 

“So, tell me?”

Miss Fisher shot a smile at her passenger, but took the car back onto the road, before answering.

“What makes you think, there is anything to tell?” She finally asked pleasantly, racing through the dark streets of Melbourne with the evening wind in their hair.

“Oh Phryne, don't play games with me. The young man came to see you and something about his appearance tells me that he was not trying to chat you up. I think he might have died on the spot of embarrassment, if he tried. So he had something to tell you!”

The Hispano shot around a corner screeching.

“Have you ever considered a career as a lady detective?” Miss Fisher asked her friend, who was currently holding on for dear life, but answered in an amused voice.

“No, I think this detecting of yours is a rather bad habit to take up. Way too dangerous – for the world.”

“Speaking of dangerous. You seemed rather cosy with Admiral Winterbottom.” Phryne raised an eyebrow without taking her eyes of the road, which was fortunate as a car came towards them honking its horn loudly just then. She ripped the wheel to their side of the street just in time.

“Well, we have known each other for quite some time.” Mrs. Santi explained with a fond smile to her face. “And quite well, I should add.”

Miss Fisher was too experienced a woman to miss the tone of her voice.

“You did have a dalliance with him then?”

Riya threw a hand in the air. “Oh, don't make it sound so shabby. We had a very romantic time when he was stationed in India. It must have been... Oh, I think in 1924. Yes, about two years before Akhil died.”

At this, Phryne couldn't quite manage to hide her shock.

“You were married when you met the Admiral?”

Curious, calm eyes glanced at her from the side.

“I was. I did not think you someone to judge me on the grounds of who I shared the bed with, Phryne.”

Miss Fisher swallowed heavily at this. She wasn't. Riya had not gone down in her estimation in the last minute. But nevertheless, the idea of being committed to someone and betraying him, seemed suddenly very absurd to her.

“I'm just surprised.” She stated calmly. “I always believed Akhil and you to be quite happy together.”

To her astonishment Riya laughed at that.

“Silly girl. We were incredibly happy. I was very fond of my husband, Phryne, but he did have a very cavalier approach to fidelity. He just didn't think it possible to be satisfied with just one body. So he chose not to be. I took the same right for myself, that is all.”

Miss Fisher didn't answer. Her head was spinning. For a while they flew through the night in silence. When Phryne pulled the car over in front of her house, she found her friend watching her with dark, serious eyes.

“Have I lost your respect?” She asked with surprising openness. The lady detective shook her head, fighting back tears that she had no idea she had been intending to shed. Or why they were there, for that matter. Mrs. Santi took her hand.

“I can see you are upset, Phryne, and I am very sorry. My marriage with Akhil appears to be something very hard to understand. But there is many ways of finding happiness with a person you love and we just did the best with what we had.”

Phryne nodded again. Tonight of all nights, she seemed to have ran out of words.

“Just don't break my butler's heart.” She finally said, with a fake smile. “I think my house might fall into disarray without the incredible comfort of Mr. Butler clinging onto sanity.”

“Tobias is a very precious man.” Riya stated calmly. “Giving him pain would be a sacrilege.”

There was so much sincerity in her eyes at this, that Miss Fisher felt her peace return. Her servant would be quite safe with Mrs. Santi, wherever their connection led. Not willing to dwell on it any further, she pushed her door open.

“Nightcap?” She asked.

“It seems a little early for that.” Mrs. Santi laughed, but climbed out of the car nevertheless. While they wandered down the garden path she recalled the beginning of their conversation.

“You have quite cleverly avoided sharing with me what Sam Carter had to say to you.”

“It appears he met Emily before.”

Riya Santi stopped.

“And you chose not to tell me that?”

“Well, he doesn't even know her name. But he pointed me to someone who might.”

Miss Fisher turned to see that Mr. Butler had already opened the door.

“Good evening, Miss. Mrs. Santi.” He hinted a bow and once again Miss Fisher was surprised at seeing her butler in something that very much looked like love to her.

Hanging her hat, she swept her eyes through the dining room, then the parlour. Her servant hadn't missed the glance.

“I fear, the Inspector will not join you tonight, Miss Fisher.” He said gravely. “There was a very cryptic message from the station. Something appears to have happened.”

 

X

 

Jack pushed his office door open with some enthusiasm and started, when he saw Rosie standing behind his desk, a cup of tea cradled in her hands, inspecting a picture on his wall. On his approach she turned.

“I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't know what to do with myself.”

He caught himself quickly.

“You are right. Would you like to take a seat, so we can get your statement out of the way? And then we will find you a place to stay for the time being.”

She nodded, looking upset again and Jack cursed himself for never finding quite the right words. Nevertheless his ex-wife sank into the chair in front of his desk, wrapping a blanket over her shoulders that someone had provided her with. Why ever someone would need a blanket at 37 degrees was beyond anyone's knowledge, but it seemed to bring her some comfort, so Inspector Robinson didn't object.

“So, what happened?” He prompted, after watching her sipping her tea in silence. A weak smile was the answer.

“I don't even know where to start.”

“At the beginning.”

The encouraging smirk accompanying this, finally pushed her to tell her story.

“I was invited to a dinner at Mrs. Wincliff's house. Just the ladies, apparently her husband has taken to being out of the house a lot at night and she was looking for company. Sidney didn't mind, he said he had business to take care of. So I left.”

“When was that?”

“About quarter to eight maybe. The sun had just started to set.” Her eyes fixated something behind Jack, lost in memories of the evening.

“But after I had gotten into the car I realised, that I had forgotten my purse, so I got Brandon to turn around. I found the front door open, which was odd, but I guess I thought I hadn't pulled it shut properly. I called out to Sidney from the hall, letting him know that I was just briefly returning, he called back, I got my purse.”

She bit her lip.

“He called something out to me, that I didn't understand, so I stepped through the sitting room door. But he wasn't talking to me at all. He was staring right past me. And then I heard a shot. It was incredibly loud. And then Sidney just... twitched and collapsed.”

Tears threatened to drown Rosie's voice at this stage. Jack extended his hand over the desk, that she took gratefully, before continuing.

“I remember screaming. And I wanted to get to him, but it was like walking through glass. I heard a crash somewhere from my right, behind the door.”

Jack Robinson nodded, he had noticed the broken lamp at the crime-scene. So the killer had pushed it over.

“Did you see him? Can you describe him?” He asked. She shook her head wildly.

“No.” She laughed bitterly. “It's really embarrassing, isn't it? The Commissioner's daughter witnessed a murder and all I can say is 'It was a dark shadow'.”

Jack squeezed her hand gently. It was odd, holding it again, he found himself thinking. A hand he had held during a wedding waltz once upon a time. He remembered the ring in his night stand. It was quite ironic really, that he felt the urge to wed Phryne, after his first marriage had so spectacularly failed. Carefully, he peeled his hand out of Rosie's fingers and leaned back.

“What happened next?”

“He shot at me.” Rosie said simply. “And I ran for it, ran up the stairs and locked myself in the bedroom. And then I waited, like a good old coward.”

“There was nothing you could have done, Rosie. He was probably dead before he hit the ground.”

Jack tried to talk the bitterness in her tone away. It had been a good shot, especially considering the distance. That was not a particularly comforting thought to the Inspector. Neither were the three deep cuts to Sidney Fletcher's hand. So it was as simple as that. The killer was counting his victims. How high would he go? Double digits? More? He had downed three people in less than 24 hours with no system to be noticed other than his victims were rich and influential. Serial killers were gruesome at the best of times, but they in Jack's experience had some sort of pattern, a particular feature they went for, a certain ceremony to their killings. This one was just fast, efficient and deadly and the only trace he left was numbers, so nobody forgot how many bodies had dropped along his path and notes with strange words, this time in an envelope on Sidney Fletcher's desk. Jack rubbed his face. He still hadn't talked to Phryne. She had been investigating when he had rang her house and that was fair enough, but right now he really wished he could speak with her. Let her sort his racing thoughts in her usual manner. But he couldn't go home, not before Rosie had found a place to stay and not before he had found a killer who had people dropping like flies. God, he was tired.

“You look like you haven't gotten much sleep lately.”

The sentence shocked him not as much as the lips that spoke it. For a moment he had almost forgotten that he was sitting opposite of his former wife. A woman that knew him too well, even though he liked to omit that fact most of the time.

“It's just been a long day.” He smiled tiredly. “I hate to say this Rosie, but Sidney was not the only man to get killed. It looks like he was the third in a string of murders.”

Mrs. Fletcher had the decency to look shocked at this.

“You mean, there is a serial killer on the loose?”

“So it seems. I'm actually surprised, your father isn't beating down my door just yet.” He tried a joke.

“You don't know?”

“What should I know?”

“Father is not in town, Jack. In fact he is not even in the country. You remember my brother James?”

Jack nodded dimly at that. It was rather hard to forget your brother-in-law, even though he hadn't seen him in many years since Jim had decided to stay in Britain after the war .

“Well, he has finally decided to settle down. Both Father and Cynthia are in England right now to make sure he enters holy matrimony.”

Jack Robinson resisted the urge to swear under his breath. So there went his plan of getting Rosie settled with her family, so he could maybe finally try and wrap his spinning head around this case in quiet. Instead a weak “Oh” was all that came out of his mouth. The only other person he knew Rosie had a close relationship with was his cousin Iris, who he was also aware was currently in New South Wales visiting her mother-in-law, a task she the usually referred to as “taming the dragon”. The Inspector rubbed his hot, tired eyes, trying to find some way of dealing with this, when the door flew open and a very enthusiastic Miss Fisher appeared, taking in the scene in a split second, before hiding her astonishment at his company in a way that used to convince him, before he knew her as well as he now did.

“Miss Fisher!” He said in a tone that she probably looked through just as easily. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Inspector. I wasn't aware that you weren't alone.”

She smiled sweetly.

“Hello Rosie.”

Jack watched on in awkward amazement, as the two women of his life traded a greeting that was plastered with pleasantries, with its thorns hardly concealed. Then Phryne slipped on the edge of his desk, as if to bring a silent barrier between him and his former wife.

“So Jack, I heard you were not going to come home tonight?”

The tone in her voice was slightly dangerous and the Inspector felt like there was the tiniest of smiles on Rosie's features for a split second. But possibly he was just hallucinating at this stage. He grew quickly tired of the games. 

“Actually, Phryne, I think we should talk in private for a moment. Please excuse us, Rosie.”

Under the watchful eyes of his former wife the DI grasped his lover's arm and pulled her out of his office into the neighboring interview room. He slammed the door shut before he fell heavily onto a chair, burying his face in both hands. Miss Fisher watched on in silence.

“What's going on, Jack?”

Her teasing tone was gone. He looked up at her, his eyes red with lack of sleep and worry. She felt the need to touch his hair, run some soothing fingers through it, but she resisted. They were at his workplace after all, not in her bedroom.

“Sidney Fletcher was murdered.” He stated simply. Phryne sat down in shock, grasping his hand. “God, poor Rosie.”

“She witnessed it.” He sighed deeply. “And that's not all, Phryne. Bungard was only the first victim. This is a serial killer and I have not the faintest clue yet.”

He talked for a while, explained everything that had happened since they had split in the early afternoon. Miss Fisher listened, her grip on his hand slowly getting tighter as he went on. She watched him with concern, felt the guilt he exuded about not having stopped this man before he had had a chance to kill again. Before shooting Sidney Fletcher. Phryne hadn't particularly liked Fletcher, but she guessed he had been Rosie's chance at a new life. A life after Jack. She shook the thought off as quickly as she could. When he was finally finished, she got to her feet.

“Alright. You are coming home with me right now.”

His eyes flew up, stunned.

“And before you protest, yes I know there is a killer running around Melbourne, but in your state you wouldn't find him even if he stumbled over your desk.”

He swallowed at this and considered to protest for good measure, but he was too exhausted and she had a point.

“I need to find somewhere for Rosie to stay.” Jack remembered.

“You already have. She's coming with us.”

Jack Robinson had thought up to this point, that he had seen and heard about everything shocking possible in the two years since he had met Miss Fisher. Now, he couldn't even come up with a response.

“Oh close your mouth, Jack. I'm not that much of a monster. The woman has lost her husband and there is nobody in town to take care of her. And knowing you, you won't leave her till you found her a bed to sleep in. One of our guest rooms will do.”

She pulled him to his feet and swept out the door, before he could answer and that was just as well, because he couldn't actually think of anything.

 

 


	9. Orange

Chapter 9

 

If Rosie Fletcher was stunned at the offer, she didn't show it, but Phryne guessed that the woman didn't care too much about where she slept tonight as long as it wasn't in the house with her husband's blood still on the floor. Still, the silence in the car was awkward and Dorothy's look at the new arrival spoke more than they had said all the way from the station. A bedroom was readied hurriedly, while they exchanged pleasantries that nobody meant and an hour later, silence spread it's wings over the Fisher residence.

Miss Fisher lay in the darkness of Jack's bedroom, watching the moon draw shadows onto the walls. The Inspector had fallen asleep almost before his head had hit his pillow, but she could tell that it wasn't overly restful, which was probably partly due to the heat and partly to what he had seen today. Phryne slipped out of bed to open the window even though the night air was barely cooler than the inside of the house. Jack turned anxiously, now facing her and groaned in a bad dream. Phryne considered waking him, but instead she lay back down, weaving her fingers through his, that lay on her pillow as if searching for her. She was well aware that she should get some rest, but something kept her awake. The fact that his former wife was sleeping downstairs in the room beside her office was a fact that didn't help. While she felt sorry for Rosie and taking her in really had been the only sensible thing to do, Miss Fisher didn't have to like her being here. She couldn't quite shake the feeling that the former spouses had exuded a certain intimacy, when she had stormed into his office unannounced, with Jack looking almost as upset as Rosie. Under the circumstances that was probably normal. Phryne sighed, removing herself gently from her lover's grasp and turned to the window. Even though she hadn't bothered with any night garments, it was still suffocatingly hot. And as much as she had always thought Sidney Fletcher an odd choice for the successor of Jack Robinson, she couldn't get over his sudden death. What a terrible thing to happen to a woman who had just settled again, after her marriage had crumbled. Now Rosie was single again, and why that thought gnawed on her stomach so much, Phryne wasn't sure. Without knowing quite why, she pulled open the night stand. Her hand found the small box effortlessly. The ring gently glimmered in the moonlight and Phryne took the opportunity to inspect it more closely. She slipped the silvery band out of its satin-lining, running her fingertips over the metal that seemed strangely cool and calming in the balmy night. She wondered, then decided that there was an easier way to figure it out. It fit perfectly. Jack whispered something in his sleep and Phryne started, taking the band of her finger so fast she almost dropped it. Swearing under her breath she shoved it back into its box and the drawer. What on earth had gotten into her? Her heart was still racing, as she lay back down, forcing herself to close her eyes. She needed to get some sleep; they had a killer to find in the morning.

 

X

 

He was trying to find some rest when a knock at the door shook him out of his dark daydreams. Switching on the night lamp he inspected his watch. Who would have the cheek to disturb him this late? Probably one of the staff, having mixed up an order. The knocking sounded again, more forcefully this time. Grumbling under his breath, he swung his legs out of bed and threw his morning gown over his shoulders. With a few steps he was at the door and ripped it open.

“What the-?”

He didn't get any further. The gurgling noise as a knife buried itself into his throat, was not heard by anyone but the dark figure standing in his doorway. A hand pushed the dying man backwards, letting his body hit the carpet heavily, before the door fell shut behind them.

 

X

 

 

Her eyes opened with a start. Grey dawn light filtered through the curtains that waved gently in a cool breeze. Before Miss Fisher turned, she already knew that he wasn't there. She could tell by the lack of his breathing, the coolness of the sheets. He hadn't been there for a while. The mostly likely explanation, she decided while slipping into her black morning gown, was that he was already back in his office, having woken from restless dreams with a sense of guilt. He was prone to feeling guilty about the people he didn't save, never worried about the ones he did - a little flaw she found incredibly annoying. Thinking this, Miss Fisher stumbled over his shoes that he had carelessly disposed of last night, obviously too exhausted even to be tidy. His shirt and suit also still hung in a tangled mess thrown over a chair. So he wasn't at the station. Barefoot, Miss Fisher wandered down the wooden stairs, but he was neither asleep in the parlour seeking refuge from the heat nor was he sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen. Door for door she pushed open, knowing already that she wouldn't find him behind any of them. Before the last one she stopped. Rosie's room lay in complete silence, only Phryne's heartbeat was drumming in her ears. Her fingers already touched the cold metal, but she couldn't bring herself to push it down. Of course, if he was in that room, there would be a perfectly sensible explanation for it. Maybe he had forgotten to ask his former wife an important detail about the murder or maybe he had just heard her crying and wanted to offer a shoulder. Because he was Jack Robinson and he didn't let women cry alone. But no matter how sensible an explanation it might have been, Phryne couldn't force her hand to open this door. Finally she retreated back upstairs with a sense of loss that threatened to strangle her. For good measure she searched the upper rooms as well. Listened to Mr. Butlers snoring briefly, even threw a look into Dot's old room that currently only held emptiness. And with every place where he wasn't, the certainty grew bigger that he was downstairs, holding his ex-wife the way he should hold only _her_. Phryne tried to swallow the stubborn lump in her throat down when she realised the one place she hadn't looked. Hadn't even thought of looking in. The door was slightly ajar and her heart leaped in relief, as she climbed the few steps up to the roof. He didn't notice her straight away. Jack Robinson was sitting on the white balustrade, facing the roof, clad only in his pyjama pants and staring with an aura of calmness into the distance. The sun that just climbed over the horizon resembling a ripe orange, threw it's first light onto his naked chest, making him seem almost unreal. Miss Fisher blinked, wondering if she was making up the shining figure in her muddled brain to not have to deal with the fact that he really was with Rosie. But when the Inspector looked up and smiled at her, she knew he was very real. What was even more annoying, she found, was the fact, that she had completely forgotten to be angry with him. Hesitantly she walked over and hopped on the railing beside him, making sure she did not look too closely at the drop into their garden behind their backs.

“I missed you in bed.” She stated after a long moment of silence.

“I haven't watched a sunrise in years.” He said, which didn't really answer anything. Miss Fisher looked at his profile. What was happening to Jack? His features seemed to glow in the morning light and there was a deep peace to them that was oddly disturbing. Where had his darkness gone, his guilt, his restlessness? There was a serial killer on the loose for crying out loud and he was looking at the sky. A beautiful sky spreading over the waking city in a hundred shades of red, orange and pink she had to admit rather grumpily. So maybe he had a point. The longer she looked, the more she understood. She started to hear the birds singing, the wind whisper through the trees, the shoes of the milkman's horse clatter over the cobbles. And there was the firmament in all its majesty leaving her awestruck. Staring at a line of purplish red, the colour of a juicy ripe cherry, she opened her mouth.

“I wonder what it would taste like to lick that sky.”

It occurred to her, that that was a rather silly thing to say and if she had been prone to blushing, this might have been the time. A smirking glance was his only answer for a while.

“I believe, Miss Fisher, if they built a plane that could fly that high you would go up there, just to find out.

“You know, I probably would.” She stated calmly.

'And I would come for the ride, just because it's you.' Jack thought, but didn't say. They sat for a while longer, till he slipped off the balustrade and she was about to follow him inside for breakfast, when she realised that that was not at all where he was heading. Instead, he looked at her and then, taking her face between two warm, soft hands he brought his lips to hers and kissed her gently and thoroughly. When he finally pulled back, his eyes had grown dark with longing and tenderness and she watched on as if hypnotised, as his fingers with slow determination untied the belt of her gown, before slipping his hands underneath it, running his fingers along her soft frame up to her collarbones and ever so gently pushing the black silk down over her shoulders. Red light was falling on her porcelain skin, dipping her into a shade of pink that stood in strong contrast to the dilated pupils currently turning her eyes almost black. Jack moved in for another kiss, stepping between her legs and slipping a strong arm around her waist to keep her from tumbling into the nothingness that was still lurking behind her. The second kiss left her breathless, but his eyes were still on her, tender and intense, as he went on in his unhurried seduction, discovering every reachable inch of her body with the fingertips of his free hand. Phryne shivered in the cool morning breeze as his fingers trailed over her breast down to her stomach. She tried to make an effort to touch him as well, but her hands didn't seem willing to do much but hold onto the railing that was currently her only bond to this rooftop. Jack didn't seem to mind her passivity. He brought his hips even closer to hers, gently nibbling on her neck in a way that made her forget all lurking falls. She felt him move forward at a torturously slow pace that tempted her to crash against him to end his teasing. But Phryne realised with frustration, that every sudden movement would threaten to throw her off her fragile balance and so she had to surrender into Jack's choice of pace and really everything else. There was a strange excitement in his control, his determination and the dangerous height and Phryne couldn't help but give into the ecstasy that was quietly building in her stomach as he started moving his hips.

Lost in Jack's dark eyes, she noticed one of her hands letting go of the balustrade and wrapping itself around his back, pulling him even closer to herself. When he had found a slow but steady rhythm, Miss Fisher allowed herself to close her eyes and fall into his touch, the warm, safe arm holding her away from any harm, his breath ghosting over her face and the white fire he sparked deep inside of her. When the explosion came she felt his breath pick up, knowing that he wasn't far from climax himself and for a terrible moment her muddled brain realised that he might let her fall when it washed him away. But then he shivered between her legs and his warm arms just wrapped themselves tighter around her, as if trying to meld their sweaty bodies together for eternity. Jack Robinson had never let her down; he was not about to start today.

 

 


	10. Blueberry

 

 

Mr. Butler didn't say a word, when the Inspector arrived in the kitchen humming under his breath. He dipped the newspaper however, just far enough to greet the Inspector with stoic politeness, without revealing his barely concealed grin. Jack refused the offer to be served breakfast and instead poured himself a cup of coffee, then threw two pieces of toast in the wondrous machine that had little to do with how bread had been toasted in his house.

“You slept well, I trust, Sir?” Asked Mr. Butler's newspaper.

“Very well, thank you.”

Without offering any more information than strictly needed, the Inspector sat down, buttering his toast with flourish. A less keen observer might have wondered how, with a killer on the loose and his ex-wife in his lover's house, he could be in such a good mood. But Mr. Butler had been in his profession for many years. That and he had discreetly closed the door to the rooftop on getting up, as to not let other people disturb his Mistress in her recreational activities. He could imagine that particularly Mrs. Fletcher would not have liked to be witness of it, but he also wasn't sure how familiar Dorothy was with the width of variety in marital duties just yet. And there was no point in overwhelming her.

Completely unaware of the butler's thoughts, Jack took a sip of his coffee. He was indeed in the best of moods and not only because of his morning delight with Phryne. In fact, watching the butter melt into the golden bread he struggled not to slip into daydreams. But their shared sunrise had one thing driven home: He was not alone anymore. Yes, there was an insane murderer running around out there and he might not be able to stop him before he killed again. But Phryne Fisher would be by his side along the way and they would figure it out together. Even if he might never be able to convince her to accept the ring he had shoved into his nightstand, she was actually sharing his life, walking the path with him. And that was really all he had wanted to achieve by presenting her with his heart in form of a black diamond that sparkled silently in its hiding place upstairs.

A kiss brushed to his neck as Phryne swept past him, leaving a hint of her perfume behind, almost distracted him from the fact that she also liked to share other things with him. Preferably his breakfast.

“Miss Fisher, I would actually enjoy occasionally getting to eat the toast I butter.”

Jack wasn't even trying to hide the humour in his voice, as he watched her take a hearty bite of his breakfast, leaning against the kitchen counter. The warmth spreading in his chest rendered all and every attempt at anger futile.

“In that case you should consider buttering more, Jack.” She said, her eyes sparkling, as she fished for his second piece. He had seen it coming however and snatched it up before her fingers could reach it, taking a demonstrative bite with a smirk. Her red lips twisted into a cheeky smile, as she plotted something that would for sure get him into trouble.

“Good morning.” A voice that sounded pale and tired cut between their teasing. The woman it belonged to looked just that. Jack sensed his mood snap like an overstretched rubber band, feeling suddenly guilty for having almost forgotten their house guest and the terrible loss she had suffered. Turning his head was a mistake however, as a piece of bread was plucked from his fingers with little ceremony. He had enough humour left to shoot Phryne a look that promised payment for her cheek later. Then he returned his attention to his former wife, making sure his voice sounded appropriately serious.

“Good morning, Rosie. How are you feeling?”

“The way you feel when your husband has been shot, I suppose.”

Rosie tried a weak smile, as three pairs of eyes fixed on her.

“I'm sorry, I didn't sleep well and have a bit of a headache.”

Phryne swallowed another bite of Jack's toast.

“Mr. Butler, would you please fetch our guest a powder and a glass of water?”

“Certainly, Miss.”

Rosie opened her mouth as if to protest, then looked at Miss Fisher and shut it again. Their eyes locked for a moment, sharing quiet understanding and forging a peace treaty in the progress. It was threatened immediately when Mr. Butler returned with the required medicine and Rosie chose, possibly purely out of old habit, to sit down beside her former husband to drink it.

“Would you like to eat something?” Jack asked, eager to get off his chair that seemed to burn under Miss Fisher's glare. But Rosie shook her head in silence, while swallowing the bitter liquid.

Jack sat back, bringing his own cup to his lips in an effort to drain it and find an excuse to leave for his office. He breathed a sigh of relief, when there was a knock at the door.

“Please.” He waved off Mr. Butler, who had just sat back down for his own toast. “I was finished anyway.”

That was a blatant lie, but nevertheless he was glad to escape. Phryne looked after him in worried confusion, when she realised that he had not had breakfast after all.

Jack's relief wore out the very second, he ripped the door open and looked into a pair of sharp blue eyes under a set of red hair. 

“So they make you open the door now, do they?” Doctor MacMillan asked, before he could get a word in and pushed past him.

“Good morning to you too, Mac.” Inspector Robinson sighed, letting the door fall shut behind her.

“I actually came here to talk to Phryne, but since we are so cosy right now, I'll have a quick chat with you, Jack.”

Without protest, the Inspector was pulled into the parlour, where he was disposed off in one of the armchairs, while the doctor wandered the room like a locked up wildcat.

“Amber tells me, you have given up on proposing. Are you mad?”

A sarcastic smirk appeared on DI Robinson's features.

“Not that I am aware of, doctor.”

His calmness didn't seem to meet Mac's approval.

“Be serious, Jack! It's a proposal! You cannot just retreat from it like a coward.”

He rose, hanging on to his composure by the skin of his teeth.

“I cannot retreat from something that has not happened yet. And if you don't mind, I have no intention whatsoever of causing Phryne pain by pushing her into something she fears.”

While talking he had stepped closer to the doctor, pulling himself to his full height. To his utter exasperation, she did not seem threatened in the slightest, but sparkled back at him angrily.

“I wouldn't have taken you for such a fool, Jack.”

He opened his mouth, unable to comprehend her meaning, but an explanation to this failed to be formed into words, as the subject of their conversation chose just this moment to sweep through the door.

“Mac! What brings you here?”

Miss Fisher glanced for a moment in confusion at the silent standoff she had interrupted, before Jack took a step backwards and said stiffly: “I believe, the doctor wanted to talk to you. I will get ready for work.”

Mac rolled her eyes at him, as he stalked off in direction of the stairs, but froze, when Rosie emerged seconds later from the dining room, retiring to her sleeping quarters.

“Phryne.” She said dangerously slowly, stretching the name of her best friend like chewing gum. “Please tell me I'm suffering from hallucinations rather than having just seen Jack's former wife wandering your corridor.”

“I'm sure the hallucinations can be arranged.” Phryne stated calmly, sitting down and locking her arms over her chest. “You are a doctor, after all.”

Mac ignored the challenge in her eyes.

“Why in all saints name would Rosie Sanderson be in your house, Phryne?”

“She actually answers to the name of Rosie Fletcher now and her husband got killed last night.”

That somewhat took the wind out of Mac's sails. She sank onto a chair. 

“So you thought it was a great idea to take in the wife of you lover?” She finally asked sarcastically.

“ _Former_ wife!” Phryne replied, pulling her red lips into something very much resembling a pout. 

“And trust me, if she had anywhere else to go, she would not be staying with us.”

Mac tiredly rubbed both hands over her face, repressing all of the many curses lying on her tongue.

“Your Samaritan heart aside,” she changed the subject, “how is your process with finding Emily's existence? I fear we are getting into hot water. Dr. Mahler, one of the puppy dogs of the hospital board has been sneaking around the ward yesterday afternoon, so I think they grey and important will expel her soon and she has nowhere to go.”

Miss Fisher chewed on her lip, feeling guilty. She hadn't given much thought to Emily's fate since she had found that there was a serial killer roaming freely and causing ex-spouses to suddenly resurface in their lives with annoying force.

“I'm sorry, Mac, but I fear, Jack's case has priority right now.”

She explained what had happened as best she could, watching thunderous clouds appear on the doctor's face.

“So what you are telling me is that you are abandoning your client because you can't resist chasing after a cold-blooded serial killer? Has it ever occurred to you, that some cases would be better handled by the police?”

“I need to help Jack find him before he kills more people.” Phryne argued sulkily. “And I'm not abandoning Emily, I'm just trying to prevent some murders first, if it's all the same to you.”

“Oh for God's sake, Phryne, Jack can deal without you!”

The words were in the room, hanging loud and ugly in the air, before Mac had a chance to stop her simmering anger from overspilling. Miss Fisher stared at the doctor in silent astonishment. She felt as if her best friend had just slapped her. Elizabeth had the decency to let her regret show.

“I'm sorry, Phryne, I hadn't meant...”

She trailed off, when her friend pulled herself up.

“I think I better get ready, we have a killer to catch. And please tell Emily she is welcome at my house at any time till I can find her family. It seems one more guest won't make a difference. I'm sure you can show yourself out, Mac.”

With that she was gone. Doctor MacMillan sank back into her chair with the feeling she had just turned over a shelf full of crystal and fought the urge to pour herself a stiff drink at 8.30 in the morning.

 

X

 

Ten minutes later, Jack Robinson stood in front of his lovers bedroom door and wondered if he should knock. He resolved to just push the door open a few centimeters and stick his head through the gap.

“Are you good to go, Miss Fisher?”

It occurred to him that moment that he had never actually asked her if she even wanted to come. She did have a case of her own after all. But the Inspector was distracted from that thought, when he spotted her at her dressing table, playing with a familiar piece of jewellery. Tentatively he stepped into the room.

“Are you going to wear it?” He asked, keeping his voice neutral. To his slight disappointment, she gently laid the sapphires back onto the table. Jack hadn't seen the necklace on her for weeks, which made him wonder if she really did like it as much as she appeared to when first presented with it. Then again, she had a lot of jewellery and expecting her to wear the same gems every day was probably just too much to ask. She did not enjoy being restricted.

“To a murder investigation? That would be rather silly, don't you think?” Phryne Fisher got up, trying to not dwell on the fact that, while indeed silly, she had been toying with the thought. Somehow, wrapping Jack's birthday present around her neck seemed incredibly tempting right now. Mac's words still echoed in her head as she stepped down the stairs and while she knew exactly, that her old friend had been steaming about her delaying to help Emily, they had hit home. She glanced at Jack's profile as they walked down the garden path to the street, where the Hispano was waiting. Of course he could deal without her. He had made Detective-Inspector before she had even entered his life. And that was not down to connections or money, but owned to the fact, that he was a damn good policeman. So good, that his career had survived divorcing the Deputy Commissioner's daughter and instead living in sin with some high-society lady that he involved more into his cases than he should have. But then, the last time he had tried to live without Phryne he had ended up half dead in a basement, after crossing the wrong gangsterbosses path. The memory of combing through city and evidence in vain, looking for any signs that Jack might be alive somewhere, still returned sometimes in unsuspecting moments. Miss Fisher hadn't lied to him back then. She would never forget the moment she had finally stepped through a broken down door, to find the man she loved - even though she had only just grumpily admitted that fact to herself back then - tied to a chair in a blood soaked shirt, blurry eyed and with sweat pouring down his glowing face, closer to death than life. It was not the kind of picture you could dispose of into the dustbin of your brain. She remembered the pain she had felt, the terror and also the immense relief that had almost had her fainting on the spot. And while she had stayed on her two feet, he had passed out seconds later, as if he could finally allow himself to be weak now that he had known himself to be in her hands. She had never told him about the days after, not the mad dash to the hospital, not about the hours she had spent pacing the hallways there, till Mac had allowed her to see him. Not about the angry shouting match with Sanderson in which she had not asked, but demanded, that he bring down the people responsible and damn the consequences. Phryne had never said a word about the two days she had sat by his bedside, the only time sleeping being when she had passed out with her head on his feet due to pure exhaustion. She remembered a conversation with Dot then, somewhere in the blur, when her companion had tried to gently coax her away to have some food and find herself a bed, because the Inspector would be alright without her for a few hours. Miss Fisher had refused, because somewhere deep inside she had known that Jack's stubborn will to cling onto his life had something to do with her holding his hand. Their fingers had stayed firmly entwined in the hours he had tossed in feverish dreams, yelling in his sleep, while she had washed his hot face with cold clothes and made sure he didn't tear off his dressing and bleed out after all. Then his fever had broken, if due to Mac's efforts or the Inspector's perseverance they would never know. But when Phryne had gotten up from his bedside with stiff knees and the urge to sleep for a month, she had come to the conclusion that she would never leave him out of her sight again – right after she had hunted down and brought to justice the people who had almost killed him. She had stayed true to both promises.

She awoke from her memories to watch him turn into a street that was nowhere near his station.

“Where are we heading?”

“A little detour, I need to inform Mr. Morton of his wife's demise. They may be separated, but they are still married, which makes him her next-of-kin.”

Phryne nodded darkly, swallowing down any cutting remarks about the pointlessness of the legal system called marriage. Wasn't it more important how two people felt about each other than if they signed a piece of paper and declared their love or at least their willingness to bear each others company in front of society?

She might have been amused by the fact, that the Inspector was currently pondering the exact same thing. Mac's words hadn't lost their effect on him either and Jack Robinson wondered, just why she was so insistent on him proposing to Phryne. Surely, she of all people should know that Miss Fisher was not interested in marriage. And while the truth was that he hadn't given up the hope that he could convince her eventually, at this point in time it just didn't seem wise to ask. He had not forgotten her reaction to finding the ring, though the subconscious one worried him more than her words. When he had decided to make the leap in his enthusiasm about finally letting go of some ghosts that had haunted him for a decade, he had known that she was likely to refuse him. But while he knew there could be pain attached, Jack Robinson had always expected it to be him taking the risk of having his heart broken. It had never occurred to him, that he might hurt her.

While he pondered this, too busy to worry about Phryne's silence, they had crossed the Yarra. Miss Fisher still hadn't said a word, when he parked the car in a small street near the parliament house and around that time, Jack sensed that something was off.

“You alright?” He nudged gently, when helping her out of the Hispano onto the footpath.

“Fine.” She replied. He didn't let go of her hand till they turned the corner into Spring Street, where he turned into a police officer. Policemen generally didn't hold onto their lover's while investigating, it was considered unprofessional. Nevertheless, he felt the loss, when her fingers slipped away.

“So, where are we heading?” She asked, back to her upbeat self.

“There.”

He pointed along the street to the Victorian era building with its rows of windows glistening in the morning light.

“So our Widower is staying at the Windsor Hotel? That is interesting.”

Jack was not quite sure, why she deemed the accommodation important, but marched up to the front door nevertheless. If the doorman noticed that his garments were not quite up to scratch for this environment, he did not show it, as he opened the door for them politely. While he approached a porter, introducing himself and getting direction to the suite Mr. William Morton inhabited, the Inspector was not sure if to be proud or embarrassed by dragging Miss Fisher through the entrance hall. She belonged here, into this world, while he didn't and it was as obvious as could be. But then again, she was his partner in love and crime, as she had put it once.

With a smile he approached the lift, when he realised she had struck up a conversation with a rather handsome, well-dressed man in his 40s. Jack instantly hated him and not only because he was currently doing his best to charm Miss Fisher. The policeman stepped beside her, set on getting rid of the man as soon as possible.

“Jack, meet John Morell. Mr. Morell, Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson.”

“How d'you do?” 

The hand that he was shaking held the perfect amount of pressure and made Jack want to gag. They exchanged some more friendly but meaningless words, before he finally managed to coax Phryne into the lift to get back to their sad mission.

“So how exactly do you know Morell?” He asked, aiming for a casual tone of voice when the lift doors swung open on the third floor and spat them onto a long corridor. He missed the grin of the liftboy in his back, who had worked long enough in this establishment to sense jealous lovers a mile away. 

“I met him last night.” The lady-detective said casually, following the red and golden carpet to their destination. “At the 'Poseidon Club'.”

Jack knocked at the door with vigor, plastering on a broad smile.

“And what where you doing in a gentlemen's club last night, Miss Fisher?”

“Turning heads, I believe.”

“Undoubtedly.”

She smiled enigmatically as Jack tried to unclench his fists. God, she was frustrating sometimes. And he was losing the game rapidly. It was time the door was opened, so he could finally change the subject. But the door stayed stubbornly shut. He traded a worried look with Phryne. The porter had assured him Mr. Morton had not yet left this morning. The Inspector knocked again, this time trying to yell out. There was no answer. He watched on as Phryne gently pushed him aside to manipulate on the lock. But forgetting about being a gentleman, he grabbed her arm and pulled her backwards, giving her a stern look, when she tried to swing open the door, then fished for his pistol before approaching. He would not let Miss Fisher walk into this room first, her curiosity be damned. Her eyes widened in surprise, he did not usually take his weapon home. But then, a serial killer on the run might change things.

“Mr. Morton?” Jack yelled into the half conceal room, while pushing the door in. Then he found the man he was looking for. He wouldn't answer him anymore.


	11. Date

Dot dropped another one of her stitches and resisted the urge to swear in a way that she would have to confess to Father Grogan. Instead, she let her knitting drop into her lap and glanced at Mrs. Fletcher who seemed to be reading a book. But Dorothy Collins had been Miss Fisher's assistant sleuth for a while. The woman hadn't turned a page in several minutes. Instead her eyes seemed red and swollen, like someone trying very hard not to cry, which brought Dot in a complicated situation. She was by nature compassionate towards people suffering but she was also loyal to Miss Fisher and this was Inspector Robinson's ex-wife sitting in an armchair by the currently cold fireplace. Even ignoring the fact that ex-wives technically didn't exist for a good Catholic like Dorothy, the question how to deal with a house guest like that left her brain blank. That was, until Rosie Fletcher slammed the book shut on her lap and said: “You hate me, don't you?”

Dorothy wanted to deny that but when she opened her mouth, feeling a red heat cover her face, nothing was coming out.

“I don't blame you.” The woman said, getting up and pushing the book back onto the shelf, running the tips of her fingers along book backs, briefly lingering on “Lady Chatterley's Lover” with a confused frown.

“I would hate myself too.”

She turned to have a look at Miss Fisher's companion, who still looked at her in awe.

“But, Mrs. Collins, let me assure you, I am not here to cause trouble.”

That seemed to finally wake Dot from her stupor.

“Why, if you don't mind me asking, are you here then?”

That was about as forward as she would ever be, but the truth was: In Mrs. Collin's world ex-spouses should not just reappear, once they were gone. In fact in her world, former spouses had exactly one chance to become former and that one went via a funeral home and a nice little ceremony on the cemetery. And while Dorothy had spent enough time in the actual world to know that that was in fact not really the only way, she kind of stuck to the principles: Once a relationship had ended, the person should drop off the planet to never be seen again. Inspector Robinson inviting his former wife into this house was insanity. And while Dot was very familiar with insanity, this was just a tad too much, even for the companion of Phryne Fisher.

“My home has the blood of my late husband splattered over the sitting room, my family is in Britain and most of the people I considered my friends will not return my calls anymore, since I was divorced.”

Dot swallowed, laying the beige entanglement of wool aside.

“So really, Miss Fisher's offer was the only option, Mrs. Collins. And I am grateful for her kindness, even though I understand, that my stay here must be unbearable.”

She glanced back onto the shelf, then with some determination took Lady Chatterley's tale from it and sat back down.

“I'm sorry, Ma'am, I had no idea.”

Rosie looked up from the first page of her reading material of choice.

“Please don't be. You are loyal to your Mistress and so you should be.”

Silence settled for a while, while both women picked up their occupations again, with only the quiet humming of the fan, the clacking of knitting needles and the rustling of book pages disturbing it.

“Is it true?” Asked Mrs. Williams finally.

Her opposite looked up in surprise, a slight pink tinge to her face, that was common for people for the first time reading a book on Mrs. Chatterley's adventures.

“What do you mean?”

Dot looked embarrassed, but she pushed on nevertheless.

“Are you the only person who has seen the serial killer?”

 

X

 

 

 

What was left of the man called William Morton was not a pretty sight. The knife that the killer had not bothered to retrieve after stabbing him in the neck, had severed the big blood vessels causing him to lie in a now drying pool of his own blood that had painted a big dirty stain onto the carpet. The note, that had been hidden by the opened door, as if someone had shoved it through underneath, had suffered somewhat of its contact with the red liquid, but the words were the same as before. Phryne explained quietly to the Inspector how Riya had translated and they agreed that the killer's riddle really was most unhelpful. When Jack uncurled the cold fingers he found exactly what he had expected. 'IV', deeply carved into the palm. Number 4. In not even two days. The Inspector felt dizzy. 

“Strange.” Phryne stated, from where she was standing bent over the corpse. Jack looked up, trying to understand her meaning. “He seems rather in a hurry.” She explained, after a pause. She crouched down beside him. “Look at poor Mr. Morton. Stabbed in the neck, right in the door. His attacker did not even bother to move him. I always thought, serial killers enjoyed what they are doing. What is the point otherwise?”

Inspector Robinson stared at her in stunned amusement.

“You are the only person in the world who could make killing sound like a hobby to just pick up.” 

“This one doesn't regard it recreational though, Jack, he treats it as a job to be accomplished.”

She sighed as she stood.

“He is not enjoying himself, he's downing as many as possible, before you catch him.”

Jack shuddered at this.

“But if he gets no joy out of it, what for?”

“Therein lies the question, Inspector.”

A question that Miss Fisher seemed to have lost interest in, as she started to comb the room for other evidence. The Inspector stood silently over the body.

“If it's not joy, it must be hate.” He concluded under his breath. “But he has no pattern.”

“Maybe we just haven't found it yet.” Miss Fisher pointed out, highly interested in the contents of the victims cabinet. DI Robinson pondered this while riffling through the contents of the desk. There was not much, a few bills, business letters, a passport.

“They were all rich people. Someone who is trying to right society?” Miss Fisher wondered, going through the undergarment drawer without blushing. A thought occurred to Jack, that he pushed to the furthest back of his mind. It would not do to worry himself sick about Phryne being the next target. He needed to concentrate.

“He killed a married couple. At two different places. That's got to mean something.” He said slowly, while his eyes were attracted by a pile of papers.

“An estranged couple.” Phryne pointed out, but Jack wasn't listening. His fingers fished for a pencil, while Miss Fisher stepped beside him, sensing that he had found something.

“There has been something written through this.” He explained, colouring the page grey in long steady strokes and revealing the curls of writing. They weren't very strong, hard to make out and as he bend over, he felt Phryne hair tickle his neck, while she was trying to decipher the meaning as well. The smell of her perfume mixed with warm skin attacked his nostrils, challenging the policeman’s concentration.

“My dearest Jane...” Miss Fisher read slowly, her fingers now brushing his, while she held onto the notepad as well, “you were not... mistaken, there is no way to make ane... amends for this...” She trailed off. “Jack, this is a suicide note, addressed to his wife!”

The Inspector looked at the corpse lying on the floor.

“So the killer actually did him a favour.”

Miss Fisher followed his eyes, before stating dryly: “I doubt, that that was his intention.”

 

 

X

 

 

Mrs. Whitmoore looked up from finishing her lunch preparation when she heard the yelling across the yard. It sounded an awful lot like Mrs. Bryant, but the old lady hadn't raised her voice since little Joey had broken her china some time ago. Little Joey was getting married next month. Mrs. Whitmoore stepped over to the window and pulled the curtain aside. There she was, standing right under the clothesline, a carpet beater in hand, yelling at someone just out of her neighbours sight.

“I do not know what you are talking about! Leave or I'll call the coppers!”

The threatening gesture with the rattan tool in hand obviously had it's effect as when Mrs. Whitmoore flew through the door to ask the white haired little lady if she was alright and hopefully retrieve some gossip from her, she was completely alone in the courtyard, panting though, as if she was close to a heart attack. Her neighbour helped her into her small kitchen and set up the kettle for some tea. 

“Is Susan not home?” She asked after she had stirred sugar into the cup of the silently trembling lady, who was catching her breath.

“Susan hasn't been home in weeks.” Mrs. Bryant answered, with no explanation to go with it. Mrs. Whitmoore stayed for a while longer, till the old lady was settled and she herself certain, that there was no information to be drawn from her, then she headed back home, where her burned luncheon greeted her from the oven.

 

 

X

 

“What have you got there?”

Phryne stopped to inspect her lover's sleeve instead of climbing into the car, which made him roll his eyes. But he saw it too. A red smear on his shirt cuff and a darker spot on the coat sleeve right above it.

“Looks like blood”

“Considering we just left a crime-scene with a bled out victim, that is a fair conclusion, Miss Fisher.” He stated, slamming the door shut behind her and walking around the car. She had offered to drive, which gave him a chance to sort through his thoughts in the time he wouldn't fear for his life. He had to talk to Annie Strangewater again and ask her about the suicidal tendencies in her employer. And he also needed to find someone to tell him more about the legend of those Japanese monkeys. It was a strange riddle the killer was leaving behind, it must mean something. Maybe he had an Asian background.

The warm weight of Miss Fisher's hand on his knee tore the Inspector from his battle plan. He looked up, realising that she was talking to him.

“I will need to follow up a lead this afternoon, Jack. Mac almost bit my head off this morning, when I proposed post-poning this case.”

He nodded, wondering dimly, if she could feel her skin sizzle too, where her hand still touched his thigh. Probably not, as she was still chattering on about some clue she had found at the 'Poseidon Club', making him realise, that he had no idea, what she was searching for.

“Actually, I might head back there today, while I'm in the area.”

Suddenly the Inspector was wide awake.

“And why would you do that?” He asked, trying to keep his voice level and utterly failing.

“Have a look into my handbag, Jack.”

Obediently the Inspector opened the red bag and dug through the piles of mysterious feminine things in it.

“What am I looking for?”

“The handkerchief, Jack. I found it on the floor.” He fished out a white, expensive looking piece of cotton fabric, with a three waves emblem stitched into a corner.

“I appears, William Morton was a member of the club, too.” Phryne explained. “Or his killer left him a souvenir.”

Jack Robinson swallowed all comments he could think of about smuggling evidence from a crime-scene in a make-up bag and tried to focus. He pulled his lips into a thin line before giving his answer, tinged with sarcastic humour.

“Thank you, Miss Fisher, but I believe, being actually a police officer and a gentleman, I might handle this particular investigation myself.”

“Oh Jack, don't be such a spoilsport.”

She turned a corner in a hurry, which made his stomach leap and rendered a comment impossible for the time being.

“Phryne.” He finally said, in a serious, low voice, that bore no discussion.“We are searching for a very dangerous man and this club might be were he is hunting. I know you consider yourself invincible, but so far, the only theme appears to be that he is killing rich people.”

Miss Fisher had trouble hiding her surprise, when his hand grabbed hers, squeezing it briefly, before letting it return to the steering wheel.

“Besides that, Miss Fisher, you are very much not a man.”

She glanced at him and returned his grin.

“That I will not deny, Inspector. It didn't seem to be particular hindrance to my investigating at the club though.”

Jack wondered briefly, if she was pushing his buttons on purpose. Then he realised exactly who he was thinking about. Miss Fisher hadn't missed his reaction to John Morell, how could she? And the truth was, while he really was scared she might draw the killer's attention onto herself, the thought of her being alone with a horde of wealthy, charming men, was not a particularly comforting one either. Despite the certainty that Phryne would not betray him, Jack also had met enough men in his life to not trust them as far as he could spit. She was a rich, beautiful, unwed woman with a flirtatious nature and a tendency to make men weak in the knees and therefore a perfect target for unwanted attention. He would be damned, if he would send her into the snake pit.

“That is not the way to the station.” Jack pointed out, in the middle of his thoughts.

“No, I'm taking you home to change your shirt. You hate blood on yourself.”

At that he couldn't help but smile. He did despise blood on his clothes and he was very sure that he had never told her that.

“And you also wouldn't want to walk into a gentlemen's club with blood on your cuffs. It might leave the wrong impression.” Her red lips smirked, while she parked the car. He climbed out of the Hispano, silently thanking her, not only for her consideration but also for taking his advice for once. Miss Fisher was obviously set to stay in the car and the Inspector made it into the house without incidents. To his surprise, he found Rosie and Mrs. Collins chatting animatedly away in the parlour. There was a bond he had honestly not seen coming, but then again, he guessed it made complete sense. The maid had spotted him standing in the hallway and rose, obviously worrying she was neglecting her duties, but he waved her off, while now Rosie also turned around.

“Please don't mind me. I am just dropping by quickly to pick something up I have forgotten.”

Jack hid the bloodied cuff as well as he could from the, as he knew from experience, keen eyes of his former wife. She actually seemed to be turning into herself again in Mrs. Collin's company and reminding her of the tragedy she had encountered was not his intention. So he excused himself quickly to head upstairs, while the two women returned to their chatter. Neither of them noticed, when little later another key quietly turned in the lock.


	12. Apple

The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher found herself bored and also a tad annoyed while she waited in her red Hispano-Suiza for Jack to return to her side. Her eyes slipped up to his bedroom window. Whatever was he doing this long? Then they wandered higher, to the balustrade of her rooftop, where just this morning she had seen a side of him that still made her knees tremble. A seductive, purposeful Jack, with no hesitation as to what he wanted and how to get it. The minutes up there in his arms, with him being the only thing keeping her from falling into nothing, had left her stomach flutter in a mixture of excitement and fear. Miss Fisher had actually relied on him, his willingness to hold onto her, keep her away from danger. Of course, they had watched each others back professionally for years and he had never let her down but still... Phryne realised with a start that she was afraid. She was starting to lose her ability to take care of herself, in fact she could already not remember anymore how it had felt to wake up alone. And what was worse: She did not _want_ to remember it. Jack Robinson had changed something, he had clicked something on deep inside of her, woken a monster that was starving for his love and attention and the experience was beautiful and exciting and so scary, that it took her breath away.

Before she knew what she was doing, Phryne Fisher had climbed down onto the street and marched to the front door. Her key turned almost silently in the lock, she slipped past the parlour unnoticed, up the stairs with only the faintest of creaks. She found Jack with his back to her, leaning over his washing basin. He had obviously taken the chance to freshen up from the morning out under the blanket of heat threatening to smoother the city. He started, when she embraced him from behind, slipping her hand under the layer of his undone shirt. Drying his face, he opened his mouth to say something, doubtlessly a witty remark about her lack of patience, but she spun him and crashed their mouths together, in no uncertain terms letting him know that there was no need for talking. He obviously got the hint, as his hands were already releasing her from the burden of her clothes, while she was still fumbling with the buttons of his pants. Phryne found herself tumbling against the washstand, but managed to push Jack backwards, barely saving his already dangerously sloshing washing water from ruining his suit that had been unceremoniously dumped at their feet. Her hands roaming his bare, warm skin she manoeuvred him to the bed, where she pushed him onto the edge, climbing his lap, before attacking his face again. Jack Robinson had not stopped to think since his bedroom door had opened, but found that he wasn't meeting his lover's almost desperately passionate hands with as much resistance as the situation would warrant. When her fingers wove through his hair to pull his head backwards sharply and give her access to the tender skin on his neck, he forgot to think about ex-wives and serial killers and surrendered into being devoured by Phryne in any way she wanted. The moan his throat had been forming, hitched just there, when she moved on his lap, making him see stars that he wasn't sure if were caused by lust or lack of oxygen in his brain.

Neither of the two people clinging their bodies together in hot desperation heard the knock.

“Jack, I'm sorry, but I just remembered something impo...”

The words died on Rosie's lips as she froze in the door frame. Jack ripped his eyes open, looking at his ex-wife over his lover's shoulder and cursed himself for not having had the sense to at least lock the door, as he watched the shade of her skin change from chalk white to a flaming red. Then a hardly audible excuse was murmured and the door slammed shut. They were alone again, but Inspector Robinson felt like a ruttish dog that had had a bucket of ice water emptied over his head.

Gently he pulled Phryne from his lap and stood, without a word starting to dress himself. His thoughts were racing too much to notice the expression on her face. Phryne watched him for a while in silence.

“Well, that was embarrassing.” She finally tried, teasingly. To her deep disappointment he gave no answer. Jack seemed to have lost every sense of humour.

“I'll wait in the car for you.” He said quietly, kissing her on the forehead, before leaving her alone in the bedroom. Phryne got dressed, trying her hardest not to cry.

 

X

 

At the very same time, another woman in another part of Melbourne was taking her clothes off. While the light blue silk fell in a pool around her feet, revealing nothing but creamy white skin, she cocked her head at the man watching her.

“Happy?” Her red lips asked.

The man, owner of a pair of almost black eyes got up and pulled her over to a couch, pushing her down gently, then manipulating her limbs as if she was a rag doll, before he took a shawl and draped it over the woman.

“That's better.”

Jason Bianchi returned to his canvas, staring at his lover with unseeing eyes.

“You know, you could just drop you bloody paint brush and ravish me.” His muse teased with sparkling eyes.

“Shhs.” He made. “Stay exactly like that. The brilliance of your eyes is just perfect.”

He dipped his brush into a glob of paint, gently mixing two colours for the exact ivory of her skin.

“I will make you immortal, love.” He whispered with a fond smile, as he began painting.

 

X

 

The City South Police Station lay quietly in the hot afternoon air, completely belying the severity of the case it was currently trying to solve. Jack parked the Hispano out front, not caring who might see him climb out of “the rich birds” car.

“Are you coming?” He asked Miss Fisher, who hadn't said a word along the way, hiding his anxiety. It had occurred to him, while he had sat in the car, tapping his fingers, waiting for her to appear, hoping that she _would_ appear, that he had acted like an idiot. Once again.

While he was embarrassed, mortified even, by having been caught in the act by Rosie of all people, that twist of events wasn't exactly Phryne's fault. He had brought his ex into her house and he had allowed himself to be carried away with her there. So if anyone was to blame, it was him. He somehow sensed that dumping Phryne off his lap in the middle of passionate love making and buggering off to work did not exactly bring that point across as intended.

“I think I'll head out to do some investigating of my own.” She said nonchalantly. He nodded, turned to the door. Stilled. Then faced her and noticed the suspicious lightness of her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Phryne.”

She nodded, her jaw clenched.

“I know you are, Jack. Time to move on.”

She smiled an insincere smile and Jack took his cue to leave her car. He watched her drive off with the sinking feeling that he was by far not done making amends.

Sighing, DI Robinson walked into the station, being greeted by Constable Collins who looked like he was about to melt in his uniform.

“Any news, Constable?”

Collins pulled himself upright, sweating profoundly.

“Nobody dead, Sir. I mean, no new bodies, Sir. Several reports came through, but nothing unexpected, as far as I can tell.”

Jack nodded and turned to his office.

“Oh Collins, could you call in Annie Strangewater, please? I have some more questions. And the other two maids that left the household of the Mortons in the weeks before.”

With that Inspector Robinson vanished in his baking office and turned on the fan, briefly wondering about the remainder of the staff. But Miss Strangewater had been right. The cook was not really interested in anything but meat and flour and the housekeeper seemed to be floating somewhere in fairyland. Getting a straight answer from them would mean more work than he was prepared to do today. Sighing, he sank behind his desk. It really didn't help that his body appeared to have now caught up with the fact that it was not going to get any release after having been so mercilessly teased and decided to torture him with the unresolved passion that had survived the ice bucket. The Inspector cleared his throat and started shuffling through his reports, but Collins had been right. There was nothing surprising to be found.

 

X

 

The young man sitting on a bench under a big gum tree, apparently unfazed by the heat, didn't seem quite as bored as his reading material would have allowed. He didn't look up when a well dressed lady stopped sharply beside him, throwing a shadow on his page.

“Blake Isaak?”

“Depends who's asking.”

He turned a page.

“Me currently!” The Honourable Phryne Fisher stated, sitting down beside him and peeling the book from his hands, slamming it shut. Now the kid finally looked up, revealing a cheeky grin and a pair of sharp eyes.

“And who are you, Ma'am if you don't mind me asking, to disturb my circles?”

“Phryne Fisher, private-detective.” She extended her card, that he took without hesitation, inspecting it.

“You are aware, Miss Phryne Fisher, lady-detective, that by law I am not required to talk to you?” The young man stated in an upbeat voice.

Phryne looked at him and understood. He was arrogant, but not the kind of smarmy high-class arrogance that she despised. This kid was smart and he was toying with her. Well, two could play that game.

“That is very true.” She smiled, getting up and brushing the dust of her skirt. “Goodday, Mr. Isaak.”

She got all of ten steps, before she heard him asking.

“Oh, don't be like that. What is it that you wanted to know?”

Phryne Fisher, Lady-detective, grinned, before turning around.

 

X

 

Annie Strangewater was nervously turning her hat between her hands, when the Inspector stepped into the Interview room. If it was possible it was even hotter in here than in his office. There was a faint sparkle in the eyes of the maid, when she spotted him. He smiled.

“Miss Strangewater. Thank you for coming in on such short notice.” He slipped onto a chair. “Now, sadly I have bad news. Mr. Morton was found dead this morning.”

The sparkle disappeared. A hand flew up to the woman's mouth in shock.

“But how...?”

“It looks like it was the same killer, Miss Strangewater. But we also found this in the hotel room of your employer.”

Jack slipped the grey sheet of paper in front of her. “It's hard to read, but it seems to be a sort of suicide note. Do you recognise Mr. Morton's handwriting?”

The maid stared for a while. “I'm not quite sure, but... Suicide, Inspector? I cannot imagine Mr. Morton....” She trailed off, her eyes wide in shock.

“The night they were screaming. I remember something. He said, he wanted to end it all. Or something similar. I thought he meant the marriage but maybe...”

Jack nodded slowly.

“Was he depressed?”

“Never in the five years I worked for them. But lately both of them seemed so strange. Maybe since...” She pondered. “...I think it must have been sometime in November.”

A knock interrupted her musing. Constable Collins poked his head through the door. He looked like a ripe apple at this stage, glowing in the heat.

“Caroline Awning is here, Sir. The other girl is out of town, I'm afraid.” Jack nodded. “Send her in.” Seconds later, a pretty, young girl with blonde curls stepped through the door. The effect this had on Annie Strangewater was astounding. Jack Robinson had never watched a clam slamming shut when attacked, but this was exactly how he imagined it to be. The jaw clenched, and her arms were folded around her body protectively. Interesting. He smiled at Caroline and gestured her to sit, right beside Annie, which cause the latter to almost invisibly move further to the left on her chair.

“Miss Awning, Inspector Robinson. You know why you are here?”

“Someone dispatched Mrs. Morton.”

Jack raised his eyebrows at this.

“Someone actually 'dispatched' both of your former employers, Miss Awning. Miss Strangewater here just tells me, that they both underwent some character changes last November. Did you notice those as well?”

“Course I did. Went all grumpy on me, that's why I told them to stuff it and found myself a new household, didn't I?”

“Do you have any idea what that grumpiness might have been owned to, Miss Awning?”

The girl pondered for a moment.

“They had a dinner party, big one. And I think they had a shouting-match with one of the guests there.”

Jack Robinson sat up, folding his hands on the desk.

“Do you remember the guests attending?”

But Miss Awnings shook her blonde curls in answer. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jack noticed Annie's attention spark. He turned to her.

“Miss Strangewater?”

“I don't remember the dinner, Sir, but I do recall where my Mistress usually kept her invitation lists in her drawer. She made me send the letters out sometimes.”

Caroline huffed at this, folding her arms and pulling her lips into a pout that probably would have been attractive, if Jack didn't find her so utterly annoying.

“Thank you, Miss Strangewater. I'll send the Constable with you back to the house and you can show him where those lists are. And you and I, Miss Awning, can have a nice little chat in the mean time.”

 

X

 

 

A knock at the door let Emily look up from something that in another life might have turned into a pullover. She was not quite certain why she would be inspired to knit a pullover in the height of a heatwave, but then again, sommer clothing was hardly ever done with wool and the truth was: She was bored out of her mind. Amber had been in to spend lunch with her, but then she had to get back to work and now Emily's only company was Mrs. Boncraft, whose snores lifted a lock of her white hair every few seconds, making the young woman want to giggle at her. Which was, that much she sensed even without memory, not very appropriate.

So, the knock was more than welcome, even though Mrs. Boncraft protested from the land of dreams with a heavy wheeze. A dark bob popped through the door, followed by a red lipped smile.

“Hello Emily. I brought you someone to meet.”

Behind Miss Fisher, a young man stalked through the door, who didn't really seem to know what to do with his hands. Or his eyes.

“Emily, this Blake Isaak. I assume you don't remember him, but I believe...” She turned to Blake who nodded lightly. “...he remembers you.”

The young woman stared at the man, who was standing stiffly and nervous in the middle of the room. A faint picture flashed in the back of her mind, then it dissolved again.

“How do I know you?” She asked, holding her breath. Since Blake seemed to have lost his ability to speak, Phryne sat at the edge of Emily's bed and crossed her legs.

“He is studying at the University, where you work. Your real name is Louisa. Does any of this ring a bell?”

The girl slowly shook her head, looking past the lady detective at the young man, who was still standing, playing with his fingers, but looking back at her so intensely now, that Phryne couldn't help but smirk.

“Blake? Come over here and sit with Emily, while I go talk with the doctor.” She ordered and he obeyed. Whatever had happened to the cheeky law student she had met an hour ago, nobody knew. Love did the strangest of things to people. She watched from the door frame as Emily gently nudged Blake to tell her about herself and his tongue came back to life. Mrs. Boncraft snored softly in agreement. Miss Fisher pulled the door shut to give the two people some privacy. Turning, she stepped onto a foot that belonged to a swearing Doctor MacMillan. Mac only briefly pulled a pained face, then she noticed where her friend had just come from.

“I assume this means you have found something? Or are you just interrupting your manhunt to keep Emily company?”

Phryne smirked, walking past Mac therefore forcing her friend to follow her down the hallway out of earshot.

“I have found _someone_.” She finally stated calmly, when the redhead had caught up to her.

Mac raised an eyebrow.

“Someone who knows who she is?”

Phryne rolled her eyes in humour.

“Someone who knows that her name is Louisa, that she adores books and whose eyes go all shiny, when he talks of her.”

“Shiny eyes wont give her a bed to sleep in.” Mac grumbled, realising too late the flaw in her statement. But Miss Fisher was currently in too good a mood to take advantage of the obvious opening and instead just smirked knowingly.

“You never know, he might spark some memories.”

“What if he doesn't?”

“Since you have to be so utterly pessimistic, I will head to the university library tomorrow morning and with a bit of luck get ahold of Louisa's surname and address. Sadly they appear to be on some sort of heat strike today.”

They had reached the door while talking and Phryne took her leave with a quick wave, taking the exit with flourish, when her friend called after her. The lady-detective turned and saw the doctor looking at her with soft eyes, that revealed a lot more than she would ever express with words.

“Thank you, Phryne.”

There was a lot more to be said, but both women knew, that it wasn't necessary. Miss Fisher shot her old friend a smile and vanished into the heat of the afternoon.

 

X

 

Inspector Robinson was almost glad, when the phone rang. Almost. Having a nice little chat with Miss Awning had turned out to be a torturous adventure for the brave police officer. Now he knew everything about her newest dress, that almost looked like the one she had seen in the magazine from Paris, but still nothing much about the Morgan's crumbling marriage. It was almost as if she was leading him astray on purpose and Jack was generally very suspicious when people tried to chase him down the wrong path of thought. So, when he faintly heard the phone, his first thought was “Oh, thank God.” before the second turned into “Oh God, please not another one.”

Seconds later a young officer appeared in the door, whose name he could not remember even though he was sure he had known it last week.

“Sir? A call for you.”

Sighing, Jack got up, leaving the blonde curled Caroline behind in the interview room with a breath of relief. He answered the phone in his usual routine, fully expecting to hear about his next victim and was surprised, when instead a female voice spoke back to him.

“Hello Jack.”

“Rosie? Are you alright?”

“Of course, Jack. Why wouldn't I be?”

His tongue refused to tell her that he was thinking of a murderer on a killing spree and also, that she hadn't called him at the station in about 5 years. Instead he cleared his throat.

“So, why are you calling?”

“I wanted to tell you something earlier, when... Oh, let us not talk about it.”

Inspector Robinson whole-heartedly agreed with that notion.

“Yes?”

“Well you know, my father would ask 'was there anything strange you noticed'?”

He had to press his lips together to not laugh at her Sanderson-impression. It had always made him giggle. “Well Jack, I did. I read this morning in the paper, that Mrs. Morton was murdered as well?”

“Afraid so, Rosie.”

“I thought you might like to know, that Sidney was quite well acquainted with the Mortons. And there was also something very strange a while ago. We were invited for a dinner party at their house and I was quite happy to go, had already picked a dress. And then Sidney suddenly said, the company would be boring for me and cancelled. I was quite miffed.”

Jack found, he was holding his breath.

“Did he go?”

For a while it was silent.

“He went out for business that night and came home late, smelling of alcohol.”

Jack nodded, despite her being unable to see that. He had a faint idea, how much it had cost Rosie to admit this.

“Do you remember when this happened?”

The Inspector listened to her breathing. She always breathed loudly, when she pondered hard.

“I believe it was the last weekend in November.”

Something clicked in Jack's head, as pieces of the puzzle fell into place. There was no picture yet, but the parts started to sum up.

“Thank you, Rosie. That was a big help.”

He heard her faintly smiling.

“I guess I'll see you for dinner, Jack.”

That line startled him somewhat. It had been an eternity since he had seen Rosie for dinner and actually coming home to her, even if it was in Phryne's house, was completely surreal.

“I guess so.”

“Goodbye then, Jack.”

“Good....actually Rosie, one more question.”

“Yes?”

“Was Sidney a member of the 'Poseidon Club'?”

Now she seemed startled, but the Inspector could tell, that she had learned over the years to not question the way a policeman thought.

“Yes, he was. Do you believe that had something to do with it?”

“I'm not sure yet.”

They said their goodbyes yet again, when Hugh Collins stormed through the door, looking like he was busting to tell some news. The Inspector held his hand up, till he had finished the call.

“What's happened, Collins?”

“The lists sir, they are gone. And someone has been forcing the lock.”

 


	13. Cherries

Riya Santi smiled at the canvas, when she heard someone approach. The heavy breathing caused by six flights of stairs made sneaking up on her near impossible, which was one of the many advantages of having set up her make-shift atelier in the dome gallery of the State Library. Besides that, the steady silence of many people not speaking made for a beautifully calming background noise.

“You know, Phryne,” she said, without turning around to her visitor, “I am almost sad, that you have seen this picture already. I would have liked to give it to you when it is done.”

Miss Fisher was not sure, what surprised her more. That Riya had seemingly expected her or that the Jack on the canvas looked even more lifelike than the last time she had seen him. So rather than answer she stood in awe.

“It's beautiful.” She stated, feeling her heart flutter in her chest like a trapped bird. It was as if her friend had managed to fit the essence of Jack Robinson into two dimensions. Riya hadn't stopped at painting his face, she had dabbed his soul in between the strokes.

“That is not hard, he is a beautiful man, your Inspector.” The artist declared firmly. Phryne lifted her hand, then dropped it again, realising that touching a picture would not only be odd but also rather rude. She missed the tiny smirk around Mrs. Santi's eyes.

“Do you know, what makes him so attractive?”

A cheeky smirk appeared on Miss Fisher's features.

“You do not really want me to answer that in detail, Riya.”

Mrs. Santi stood, wrapping an arm around her friends shoulder, and looking with her at Jack's beaming face.

“Not that, you silly girl. What makes him glow, Phryne, is that he is in love. He is a lucky man and he is aware.”

The silly grin spreading over Miss Fisher's face involuntarily forced her to change the subject quickly.

“I actually did have a reason to come here tonight. One that is not Jack.” She cleared her throat, suddenly serious.

“I need to decipher, what is the secret of those letters. He has killed more people and he does not seem intent on stopping.”

Riya looked at her, chewing her lips in a gesture of nervousness, that was hardly ever to see in her. Then her face lit up.

“Actually, I know exactly who we should ask. Come along.”

Phryne let herself be pulled down the stairs like a small child on the hand of her mother. Then across the reading room, through a hall and into a small office, where a woman of slightly Asian appearance sat in front of a pile of books, writing something in tiny handwriting onto a card.

A few words were traded in a language Miss Fisher did not speak, then the woman stretched out her hand to her. It didn't look like she was about to shake it. Miss Fisher understood and fished one of the letters out of her handbag. It had blood sticking to it, which didn't seem to worry the nameless woman in the slightest. She unfolded the sheet, looked up. Read it again. And then burst into laughter.

 

X

 

Jack Robinson considered the statue above the door with a dismissive glance. There was something strange about the things rich people decided to decorate their doorsteps with. And if it had to be naked, antique inspired marble, wouldn't there be more point in something a bit more feminine? Possibly, the gentlemen in this club were not as interested in female curves as they were absorbed in their self-image. He chose not to follow this train of thought any further, as the doorman approached him.

“This Club is for members only I'm afraid, Sir.” He said stiffly, not hiding his disapproval of Jack's shoes, that belied any pretence of belonging in a Club like this.

“Lucky then, that I am a member of any club in this city.”

Jack flashed his badge at the man. “And while we are here, Mr...”

The man gulped, realising he had just insulted a police officer, whose smile you could have sharpened a knife on.

“Coxner, William Coxner, Sir.”

“Very well, Mr. Coxner. I will need the register of this club and I would also like to speak to the manager.”

“I'm afraid, Lord Watton is currently at his country estate, Sir.”

Jack's smile grew sharper if that was at all possible.

“That is too bad. I will have to ask him to come down to the station then.”

With that he walked past the almost trembling doorman. There was little that Jack Robinson hated more than being patronised by rich people. One of them was being patronised by servants of rich people, who had been coloured by the arrogance of their employers to the point where they thought themselves above mere mortals as well. It occurred to him briefly, that he might turn into a rich man himself, if Phryne would have him. The thought scared him more than the killer roaming freely. Without looking back the Inspector followed the carpet lined steps upstairs where quiet chattering lead him to a rather Victorian looking salon, decorated in dark browns and greens. One or two patrons glanced up as he approached, but didn't pay much attention to the arrival. He let his eyes sweep over the collection of men in a variety of dark suits, smoking, reading, drinking, discussing. Far in the back he spotted John Morell, sitting with four others. That would do for a start.

“Good afternoon, Gentlemen.”

Five sets of eyes flew up at him. Jack went through the ranks with a policeman's eye. A tall man with impressive green eyes and a dark beard, a second bearded man, who wore tweed and a twirled moustache, a serious looking gentleman with cheekbones that the Greeks would have been jealous of and a young kid, who looked out of place. And of course the politician, who still made his stomach twist in dislike and who currently regarded him with surprise, while getting up.

“Inspector Robinson, wasn't it?”

Jack, who had just been fishing for his badge, let it slip back into his pocket.

“That is correct, Mr. Morell. I was actually hoping to find you here.”

He was introduced and gestured to sit and so he did, in the middle of one of Melbourne's most refined gentlemen's club. Jack couldn't help but feel slightly amused by the situation and actually allowed himself to accept an offered drink. It was brought over by an impressively pretty blonde waitress and he briefly wondered, what was the point for those men in locking out women if they still had female staff. But then again, he knew that most people of their class didn't consider maids and waitresses people as such.

“Thank you.” He said, making a point of looking into the blue eyes of the girl, who appeared almost shocked at the words, that she likely had never heard before in those circumstances.

“Now,” he said, swirling his Whiskey around the edge of the crystal tumbler. “I assume you have heard of Mr. Morton's demise?”

Samuel Carter’s eyes went big at this.

“He's dead?”

“Afraid so. He was found murdered in his hotel suite this morning.”

“Most tragic.” Morell cut in. “I was of course informed this afternoon, when I returned to my accommodation in town.”

Jack leaned back. “Of course.” He parroted with a tiny smile, watching the other men. Doctor Wincliff played with a pipe, grinning nervously, Mr. Howards was rubbing his hands over his face, looking struck. The Admiral had leaned back in his chair, trying to light a cigar with shaky fingers.

“I was wondering, Gentlemen, if you knew his wife?”

“Well of course.” The doctor stated. “We have spent many a lovely evenings together at parties. We do occasionally socialise outside of this club, Inspector.”

“I assume you also socialised with Sidney Fletcher?”

A collective nod was the answer.

“How about Mr. Charles Bungard?”

Now Jack was pokering but the faces told him all the needed to know.

“Was he part of your round too?”

The men traded glances.

“He didn't spend much time with us.” Sam finally stated. “But he would have a drink here and there.”

DI Robinson wondered how the kid had ended up with those men, that were all about 20 or 30 years his senior. It didn't really matter, he supposed. He leaned back in his armchair again, draining his drink, drawing out the silence.

“So, if I am correct, a serial killer has just murdered four people of your close social circle. I would recommend you take care of yourselves, gentleman.” He got up, setting his tumbler on the table.

“And if you think of anything helpful, maybe you would like to give me a call at the station tomorrow.”

He fished his card out of his coat pocket and flicked it beside his glass, tapped his hat and strode out, before any of the men had caught their breath.

His height lasted all the way down the stairs where he took a big leather bound book from the suddenly very tame doorman's hands and out into the street, where he had just climbed into the car, when he saw William Coxner step out of the door, waving at him. Jack knew, what it meant. He swore under his breath, resisting the urge to lay his head onto the wheel. He really just wanted to go home.

 

X

 

“It's not a pretty sight, Sir.”

“Corpses generally aren't.” Jack stated dryly, brushing past Collins with vigour. He stopped in the door to the colourful atelier and swallowed hard. To the left, beside a canvas, was lying the body of a young man. The Inspector couldn't tell much about him, as half of his head seemed to be missing, having been shot from close proximity. His blood had sprayed over the pale figure on his canvas, a woman with red lips and a dark bob. The life-sized version of just that lady was lying further in the room, towards a second door and still stark naked, as she had been posing when the intruder had shot the artist and she had made an attempt to run for her life. A gaping hole in the white skin of her formerly flawless back stated her cause of death as clear as day. Jack had to grip onto a sideboard to stay upright, swaying like a leaf in the breeze. Carefully, he took a step closer, then another one. It wasn't Phryne, of course it wasn't. There was not reason for her to be here and Collins had already told him, that the deceased was one Lauren Griffin, who had actually inherited this huge house  from her father a year ago and lived here with her artist-lover Jason Bianchi, the headless man on the other end of the room. Nevertheless, the Inspector was still holding his breath when he crouched down beside the woman and realised that her eyes were brown rather than blue and that a trickle of blood had run from lips that weren't curved like Phryne's at all. The Inspector managed to drag a ragged breath into his lungs while he looked at the woman's hand. It showed the expected VI. Then he got up and left the room on wobbly knees. It wasn't her! Jack leaned against the cool wall outside of the atelier and tried to catch his breath. It was not her! But it was someone very much like her and the thought let his blood run cold.

“Are you alright, Sir?” He heard Hugh's voice ask, realising that he had closed his eyes. Jack was about to the dismiss his Constable's concern, when he changed his mind.

“Actually no, I am not, Collins. I'm going home. You know what to do.” And with that he left, the Constable gaping after him.

 

X

 

An hour later, Jack Robinson was sitting on the edge of his bed, wondering what to do with himself. The shock about Miss Griffin's likeness to Phryne had worn off as soon as he had walked through the door and seen her alive and in a surprisingly good mood sitting on the dinner table with Rosie. If Jack hadn't been already so shaken, that would probably have worried him, but as things stood, he had sat down on his chair between the woman he had divorced and the woman who didn't want to marry him and moved his food around on his plate, holding on to a tense smile in desperation. Miss Fisher had shared her current case with her house guest, explaining in detail how she had been searching for Emily's identity and was hopeful to make the last step in the morning. Jack had committed the conversation to memory on some level and wondered on another one why Phryne decided to tell something to his former wife, that she had refused to talk to him about, just yesterday. But at this stage he was too worn to worry about it. He had noticed however, that she was wearing his sapphires, a fact that he found deeply reassuring even though he was slightly suspicious, that Phryne wore them more for Rosie than him. Not that she would ever tell her the background of them. Miss Fisher was not that petty. It also had reminded Jack of the part of him that was still frustrated about their coitus interruptus at lunch time and when he had watched her absent-mindedly play with the strands of platinum, he had squirmed slightly on his seat, trying his hardest not to show Rosie that he really just wanted to send her to bed so he could have his way with Miss Fisher right on this table. Again. 

It wasn't just his physical urges though, that drew him to her, he longed to hold her, convince his hands and lips that she was alive and well, protect her in his arms from any harm that could come to her. But after dinner she had excused herself quickly and the truth was that he was struggling to find the courage to approach her. Jack had no idea, how deep her anger still ran and if he was currently strong enough for the whole brunt of it. He rubbed his face with both hands, deciding to finally get out of his sweaty clothes. Readying himself for bed would buy him some time to choose his words wisely for when he would knock onto her bedroom door and beg entrance. When he arrived there however, he found her room empty.

Lost he stood in the middle of the hallway, barefoot and only in a pair of striped pyjamas. Jack Robinson was quite aware, what a pathetic figure he made right now. Going downstairs like this to search for Miss Fisher was not an option however with Rosie in the house and to get dressed again, he was too exhausted. So he was about to decide in which bed he should throw his tired limbs in the hope that she would come to him eventually, when on a hunch he instead pulled a familiar door open and took the stairs up to the rooftop. Stepping out into the warm evening, he found he was holding his breath. There had been quite a transformation happening since the morning that seemed a long time ago now. Candles were littered over the floor, making light dance over the scenery and throwing the food, that was laid out on a tablecloth in the middle into an appetising glow. Jack heard his stomach growling in response. But the most alluring thing was Miss Fisher, who lay on her stomach in a colourful and from the look of it, very soft nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the roof, waving her bare toes into the air, obviously enthralled in a novel. On his approach, she looked up.

“Whatever took you so long? For being a detective you were rather slow in figuring this one out.”

“I'm off duty, Miss Fisher.” He said hoarsely, stepping beside her. She stretched out her hand and he let himself be willingly pulled down beside her. The nest was just as it looked, incredibly soft.

“Yes you are.” She whispered near his ear in a voice that made his toes tingle. He turned to kiss her, but she had pulled away, sitting up.

“So tell me Inspector, what have you been eating today?”

Jack racked his brain, but came up blank. Besides the bite of toast this morning he had really only had a stream of coffee and a glass of Whiskey. He opened his mouth to make something up.

“That's what I thought.” She stated cheerfully, digging a fork into some sort of pie. The smell that wafted over when she broke the crust was delicious and Jack could feel his mouth watering.

Seconds later, a fork was hovering infront of his lips. He stared at it, remembering the first time she had ever done that. He hadn't been able to resist her then, much less now. Jack wrapped his fingers around her wrist holding her steady and with delicious slowness wrapped his mouth around the fork, peeling the food of it without ever tearing his gaze away from her. The warm pulse under his fingertips jumped at this and he contentedly noticed the glitter in her eyes.

“If you keep this up, Jack, I fear I will have to ravish you before you get around to eating.” She whispered dangerously low, before returning to her upbeat tone of voice. “And that will not do. We got to take better care of you.”

Despite her refusal to sate his longing just now, Jack Robinson couldn't help but be touched. He had been more than ready to beg her forgiveness, hoping to smooth over his ridiculous reaction at lunch time. After all she had vanished all afternoon, without so much as showing up unannounced for jumbling up his folders. He found with a start that he had missed her. Phryne had seen the change in his eyes and crawled closer to press a kiss to his lips, her eyes promising more to come.

“Eating first.” She smirked and thrust the pie dish into his hands, before turning back to her book. Amused Jack picked up the fork, watching her riffle through the pages. To his utter astonishment, she started reading to him.

“What is it? It doesn't sound like your usual reading material.” He asked after a few sentences between a mouthful of shepherd's pie and a cherry. 

For a moment she seemed confused about his inquiry and looked at the binding of the book.

“The Mysterious Affair at Styles.” She stated after a second. “Not a very thrilling title, but a good author Mac assures me. Supposedly writes a lot of detective-stories.”

Jack smirked, shoving another cherry in his mouth, before answering.

“You are sharing a crime novel with me, Miss Fisher? You know, I did have crime all day.”

“Oh be quiet, Jack. There is nothing like a good murder mystery to distract you from the real thing.”

She continued without waiting for an answer, her soft voice sweeping over the roof. After a while Jack's hunger was sated and he lay down beside her, wrapping his arm loosely around her waist, feeling the reassuring warmth of her skin seep through the fabric of her blouse and looked up into the dark night sky with its million tiny diamonds littered over it. Miss Fisher smiled quietly as he settled, but didn't hesitate in reading for a moment. Jack Robinson's eyes fluttered shut as the crime slowly unfolded. He guessed the murderous behaviour of Britain's upper class should have not be as calming as it was, but when Phryne finally decided she had had enough crime for the day, she found to her amusement, that Jack had fallen soundly asleep.


	14. Starfruit

Unfamiliar blackness greeted him when he woke and for a moment he was lost as to why there was a light night breeze on his face and a strange pillow under head. The soft breathing beside him however was the same. He turned and was greeted by the firmament with its million stars staring down at him. For a moment the sight took his breath away. Jack Robinson had spent many nights under the stars, a long time ago, back in France - but it was a different sky. Different stars. A different life. It was if he was discovering the world and all its wonders anew and that had, he realised, to do with the woman that was currently lying on his arm, slowly making it go to sleep. His heart ached at the thought that he could never be able to convince her that being married to him might not be the death sentence she feared. That the black diamond, that was currently once again resting in his coat pocket as a reminder of what he had and what he was battling insane killers for, might stay there forever without finding its way onto the finger it belonged on. As if she had sensed his thoughts, Miss Fisher stirred. Her face was peaceful again and he breathed a sigh of relief. The clouds on her face were gone. Phryne looked beautiful only illuminated by the moonlight. She must have snuck away after he had fallen asleep, because the leftover food was missing and she had also gotten changed. The nightdress she wore had slipped up, not concealing overly much and Jack remembered, glancing over her sleeping frame, that he had drifted off before she could ever be true to her promise. He resisted the urge to run a hand over her thigh and instead pulled the skirt back into place. Some deep longing inside of him protested this vehemently. Jack ignored it as best he could manage. Then he lay back down, trying to distract himself from the thoughts that kept swirling through his mind. Here in the deep of the night, the pictures of the crime-scene were back. A woman just like Phryne. Young, rich, beautiful and independent. For a moment he had thought he'd figured it out, that it was to do with the 'Poseidon Club' and pieces would fall into place if he just stared at them long enough, but now he felt like a fool. A scared fool. Gently he trailed his fingertips up Miss Fisher's arm. She moaned softly in her sleep and a small firework went off in his stomach, that he had almost gotten under control. Reaching her shoulder, he leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the lips. She was here, she was alive and she was so tempting that he just couldn't stop himself. Jack deepened the kiss, when he felt her lips starting to respond. A milky white arm wrapped around him pulling him closer, accompanied by another moan that spurred him on. His hand slipped under her nightie, searching out more warm skin. Jack was not even sure if Phryne was quite awake, her hands seemed to roam his body without any effort, driving him insane with a light pressure here and a lingering stroke there. Maybe she just literally knew every single one of his nerve endings in her sleep.

He found his eyes closed, reduced to the sensation of her skin under his fingertips and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Searching out her mouth in the darkness behind his lashes, he pulled her tightly against himself, entangling their limbs in a Gordian knot that even Alexander the Great could not have torn apart. The moon shone gently onto the two people who, almost in complete silence, attempted to crawl under each others skin, somewhere in the mess of body parts finding a rhythm between them that drew some soft groans from their throats while they searched out more than ecstasy.

Still trembling Jack lay still while Phryne seemed to drift straight back to sleep. How she could do this was beyond him, but he could not pretend to care. She was here; she was alive, even while asleep. Gently he kissed her sweaty forehead, before he remembered the last attempt of the kind.

In the middle of this almost romantic moment, his bladder voiced a loud complaint. Of course, streams of coffee did have some effect on a man. With a groan that was more owned to frustration than passion this time, he wedged his arm out from under Phryne's body. Tingling, it came back to life. She protested with a soft murmur. The Inspector stilled, rubbing his throbbing arm and waited for her breath to calm, before he got to his feet and snuck downstairs. Leaving her behind felt somehow wrong, but he called himself a fool for feeling this way as his bare feet fumbled down the wooden steps. He ignored the light switch in the bathroom, fully intent on not blinding himself with electrical light and was back at the stairs only minutes later, relieved in more than one way, when he heard the sound. It was a tiny little clicking, probably not odd in a house full of people, yet something about it echoed through his head. Possibly it might have been smarter to grab his pistol first, but his policeman's soul sounded an alarm bell. Jack Robinson raced down the stairs, and before he knew why or what he was expecting, flew through the hall towards the quiet squeaking of an opening bedroom door.

“Rosie!”

The scream as his former wife discovered the dark shadow at her bedside seemed to vibrate of the walls. Jack heard the explosion of glass on someone head when he stormed into the guestroom, but the only person visible was a trembling Rosie, still holding the remains of the lamp in her hands like a weapon.

“Hold it, Police.” He yelled, really wishing he had the safety of his pistol or at least some proper clothes on. For a moment only breathless silence filled the room while he heard the house awake, light switches flick, doors open. For a moment time stopped, and he thought of Phryne. Phryne, asleep and completely defenseless on the rooftop. Well, as far as she was ever defenseless, really. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move.

“Jack, watch out!” He heard Rosie yell, but it was too late. A sharp pain cut through his left thigh. Inspector Robinson grabbed into nothing before attempting to give chase to the dark figure running past him. But a red haze was veiling his eyes, his hurt leg threatened to give way and he barely managed to leave the bedroom, before he heard the front door fall shut. Mr. Butler was the first to come running down the stairs, turning on the light.

“Are you alright, Sir?”

Jack didn't answer. He saw the blood trickle down Rosie's collarbone, as she mindlessly lifted her hand to wipe it away.

“Rosie?”

She stared at her hand, then broke down in hysterics. Jack didn't blame her. The cut on her neck was small, but dangerously close to the windpipe. The Inspector shuddered at the thought, that if his bladder had not complained at just the right time, he would have found her with a slashed throat in the morning. Soothingly, he wrapped his arms around the crying woman, trying to calm her down. Her smell was familiar, yet half forgotten. As if he had known her in another lifetime. It was around that time, that Miss Fisher stumbled into the room, wrapped in her black nightgown, woken from sweet dreams and found Jack clinging onto his ex-wife, stroking her hair with soothing words while she sobbed into his naked shoulder.

“It's alright, it's alright.”

It wasn't! Phryne felt a pang that she was well aware, was not rational. A killer had broken into her house and had threatened Rosie Fletcher. Of course Jack would comfort her. Yet, Miss Fisher's gut twisted, making her feel nauseous. Then she spotted the red stain forming on his pyjama pants. She made a tentative step into the room, almost scared of getting too close to the former spouses holding onto each other.

“Jack?”

He seemed oblivious to all but Rosie and Phryne felt her blood freeze. When she touched his shoulder, he looked up with an expression that she knew. He felt guilty. Guilty for not having been here when it happened.

“Jack, you're bleeding.”

His eyes went down to his leg, staring blankly.

“Should I call doctor MacMillan, Miss?” Mr Butler asked from the door. Phryne only nodded, trying to pry Jack out of Rosie's grasp to inspect his thigh closer where the knife had cut into his leg. Luckily, in the same moment Dot and Hugh arrived, both looking freshly disturbed from deep sleep. Phryne heard herself give more orders, for the police to be called and Dot to have a look at Rosie's wound, till Mac arrived. None of it really mattered. Jack had released his ex-wife and grasped onto Miss Fisher's hand, strong fingers weaving through hers, as if he was looking for her comfort. Phryne Fisher didn't have to be asked twice.

By the time a blurry-eyed Elizabeth MacMillan arrived, Jack Robinson was confined to his bed, with a rather stern lady-detective watching over him. The doctor diagnosed a flesh wound, inflicted by a sharp knife to the thigh, painful and rather bloody but not dangerous and Miss Fisher breathed a sigh of relief. The household returned to bed over the next hour, save Constable Jones who had taken up position outside of Rosie Fletcher's bedroom door and Rosie herself, who had to be knocked out with a cocktail of Mac's wondrous potions, before she had calmed down and was now lying in something that more resembled a coma than slumber.

Phryne lay in the darkness, listening to the silence and wondering if the trembling in her guts meant, that she was scared. The killer had been in her house, he could have gotten anyone. Or had he been looking for Rosie? For herself? From the little Jack had said when he'd resurfaced from his first shock, the man must have headed straight for Rosie's bedroom. So, someone who knew? Phryne racked her brain trying to find anything suspicious that had happened lately, anyone strange who had been in the house. But she came up with no results. And why chase her down here, in a house full of people that knew how to defend themselves and their own? There must be easier victims out there. Unless there was a pattern. A very distinct pattern. Jack groaned in his sleep and Miss Fisher wrapped her arms tighter around him. Even though her nightdress was sticking sweatily to her back, she had not released him from her embrace since she had crawled into bed beside him. After tonight's events she felt like she needed to hold onto him, feel him, comfort him.

She was torn rudely from those thoughts, by the Inspector moving.

“Hot.” He murmured, struggling himself free from her grasp and rolling over. Phryne lay completely still, reminded herself of slow, steady breaths. Of course he was hot, it was boiling in the room. She slipped out of bed, letting the moonlight and slightly less warm air sweep through the window. With the sheet hiding his hurt leg, he looked normal, as if nothing had happened. But something _had_ happened. 

She wasn't so much scared of the killer, Miss Fisher recognized, as she was terrified of the picture that had greeted her in Rosie's bedroom. He had held his former wife so tightly, so tenderly, that she couldn't help but wonder if he was really done with his marriage. But Jack Robinson wouldn't intend to marry her if he was still in love with Rosie! There was not imaginable scenario in which a honourable man like him would ever be tempted to propose marriage to someone else if that was the case. As if to reassure herself, Phryne slipped open the drawer, feeling for the ring. Her hands came out empty. Indeed, Jack would never propose marriage to someone else, if he had rediscovered his feelings for Rosie. The ring was gone.

 

X

 

Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson rose early and with the distinct feeling in his gut that he was a step closer to finding the killer, even though there was no real evidence making this conclusion necessary or even likely. The guilt about the fact that he had enjoyed his sinful lifestyle on the rooftop, while Rosie had almost demised two stories lower, was still lurking, but then again he had saved her in the end. The Inspector pulled himself onto the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding bumping the throbbing cut on his leg. Another scar for Phryne's collection, he smiled to himself. She had a weakness for the marks his numerous battles had left on his skin and that one would, despite Mac's careful stitching, be a beautiful reminder of the time Jack Robinson had stood in the way of a serial killer. Miss Fisher was still fast asleep, from the sound of her breathing deeply and restfully. And despite the urge to talk to her, share everything that happened with her, he got washed and dressed as silently as possible, careful not to rouse her. With a slight limp in his step, he wandered downstairs, just in time to hear the knock at the door. He was a moment faster than Mr. Butler, who stood respectfully back, as Inspector Robinson pulled the door open, the other hand wavering near the pistol that he had sworn this morning he would not let out of his grasp again, before the killer wasn't sitting in his cell with a full confession on his lips.

The two women standing in front of his door, appeared rather surprised but not dangerous at all, and his tension faltered.

“Good morning, Jack.” Amber Walters exclaimed cheerfully, pulling a pretty, dark-haired young woman behind herself into the house, without waiting for an invitation.

“I'm bringing you a house guest. I trust you know about Emily?”

Jack shook a pale hand with a surprisingly firm grip, wondering if he did. He had heard the details of her search for her identity at least, even though they hadn't been meant for him.

“She has been expelled from the hospital this morning. The board had some polite coughs and decided that keeping her around is too costly and not good for our reputation.” The redhead huffed, without paying any attention to the Inspectors thoughts.

“So she is to stay with us?” Jack asked, finally catching on. Amber raised her eyebrows.

“I was rather hoping, Miss Fisher would have shared information like this with you. She offered to give her a place to stay, till she has found Emily's family.”

Jack repressed a smirk. It was very much like Miss Fisher to open her door to a random client in need. A gentle clearing of throat let him turn around, before he had time to answer.

“Miss Fisher was indeed expecting you.” Mr. Butler explained. “If you would like to follow me, Miss, I'll show you the room she has chosen.”

The broad smile that formed on Emily's features, told Jack, that she had actually been worried by his reluctant hospitality. Obviously nobody had explained to her, that he had little to say in the matter. Really, he was just another one of the strays that Miss Fisher had collected under her roof. He shook himself out of that rather unpleasant thought, just to realise that he was now standing alone with Amber in the hall and an embarrassed silence spreading around them.

“Can I offer you some coffee?” He heard someone asking, who sounded suspiciously like himself. To the Inspectors further astonishment, Amber Walters sounded excited when accepting.

“You can tell me all about your progress on proposing while we drink it.” She promised.

Jack groaned inwardly, but led her into the kitchen anyway.

He managed to avoid the subject – barely. While sipping her coffee, Miss Walters tried to steer the conversation in the direction of marriage, while Jack worked his way around it. After about ten minutes of cheerfully talking in circles the Inspector noticed he was actually enjoying the game. Then he became aware, that his playing partner was staring past him in silence.

He raised his eyebrow, waiting for her to share whatever had cause the sudden mood change.

“I just thought, that it is rather surreal to share coffee and conversation with you.” The young redhead stated calmly. “Certainly not what I expected, when we met.”

Jack stirred the brown liquid, before answering.

“But then, we were both rather busy with other things at the time, as I recall. Mostly dying on my part.”

She returned a half-hearted smirk at this. Jack leaned back in his chair, looking into the big brown eyes and trying to figure out, where this conversation was going.

“If you are looking for absolution, Amber, I cannot give that.” He said, after a long moment of silence. He had to repress a smirk at the distraught look on her face and leaned forward, grabbing her hand.

“Actually, I would like to thank you.”

Her head flew up, looking at him in astonishment, but she didn't say anything. The Inspector drew a deep breath.

“While being kidnapped, shot and beaten was without doubt a rather painful experience, remaining a coward did seem rather illogical in the face of death.”

He smirked.

“But of course, the events couldn't have given my fate a new turn, if I hadn't lived through them. So, thank you, Amber, it seems I owe you my life and I have every intention of making the most of it.”

He let go of the still speechless girl, and drained his cup. There was plenty more he could have said. About how he might have never found out how it was to wake up beside Phryne or watch a sunrise with her, if it hadn't been for her compassion. How grateful he was, to have gotten a second chance. That she had kept him sane, down there in the dark, cold basement, holding on to a shred of hope, that maybe, just maybe Miss Fisher would use her infallible instinct to find him. That he was glad that she had chosen a profession that suited her, as he remembered her calming hands that even in the darkest of places had been soothing. Jack said none of it, as when he looked up, he saw Miss Fisher sweeping through the door draped in an aura of nonchalance which could mean only one thing: she had overheard some of their conversation.

“Good morning, Jack. Miss Walters.” She nodded to them both and poured herself a cup of tea. The Inspector felt his heart sink. This didn't bode well. But he could hardly explain himself while Amber was still sitting at the kitchen table. Luckily, the student also seemed to have caught on. She made as show of checking her watch.

“I'm afraid I have to leave. Please take good care of Emily.” She pleaded, nodding to the Inspector and paying Miss Fisher a strained smile. With that, she hurried out. Jack held his breath, wondering if there would be teasing. If Phryne teased him, she was not really upset. But Miss Fisher just silently stirred sugar into her tea.

“Well that looked rather cosy.” She finally said and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. She did not really believe, he could be interested in Amber, could she?

“Phryne, I-”

“Good morning.”

Jack swore under his breath, then gave Dot Collins a broad smile.

“Good morning to you, too, Mrs. Collins.”

At least he had that finally figured out. He checked his watch while finishing his toast. It was almost 8, he had to leave. There was still a serial killer running around out there and even his domestic mishaps wouldn't stop the man from killing again. Jack looked at Phryne who seemed to avoid his eyes. What had happened? She could not really be this upset by him thanking Amber, not even by the harmless touch of her hand? Part of Jack wanted to shake Miss Fisher out of it. The rest got up, cleared his dishes away and asked her if she wanted to join him for the investigation, which she refused with so much politeness, that the other part almost won the upper hand. Inspector Robinson stalked out of the kitchen with the feeling that he had just lost a battle.

 


	15. Mango

 

 

The sun stood already high in the sky, when Phryne and Dot left the university behind, a hot wind playing in their hair, as the Hispano shot through Melbourne's streets. The quiet, petite lady working in the library as Louisa's supervisor had turned out to be perfectly helpful with the address of Louisa's home. She had also been very glad to hear that the missing girl was fine and promised to be open for talking about Louisa-Emily taking up her work again, as soon she was fully recovered. So, things were going well. Really, Phryne assured herself, there was no good reason to feel so miserable. 

“Are you alright, Miss?” Dot asked out of the blue and Miss Fisher quickly plastered a smile to her lips.

“Sure, what could be wrong, Dot?”

But her companion shot her a suspicious look.

“I was just wondering, Miss, if you had an argument with the Inspector. Maybe about the ring?”

Phryne had to remind herself to keep breathing.

“I _am_ taking care of his laundry. It is hard to miss jewellery hidden in a sock drawer.” Dorothy Collins stated calmly by way of explanation.

Miss Fisher glanced at her companion and dropped the act.

“We might have slight differences when it comes to marriage.” She admitted. “But I think that will not be an issue anymore, as things stand.”

“So you reached an agreement, Miss?”

Phryne turned the last corner and parked the car in front of a small house, almost hidden behind a wall of growing wild wine. 

“I think this is it, Dot. Let's hope someone is home.” 

She climbed out, not even pretending that she wanted to answer Dot's curious questions. Her knock at the door went unanswered and so Phryne decided to walk around the house into a small backyard that separated it from the brick of the neighbouring cottage. Dorothy trailed behind her without hesitation.

“You know, Miss,” she said, while Miss Fisher fiddled with the lock of the back door, “marriage is not all that terrifying.” 

“I never said it was, Dot. It is just not for me.”

Phryne pushed the door open and called out: “Hello? Is anyone home? The back door was open, I'm afraid.”

There was no answer, and the two women carefully stepped into a gloomy hallway. Dust glittered in the air as they approached the kitchen. It was tiny but neat, only a single plate and a cup drying beside the sink.

“Not a bustling family life then.” Phryne concluded under her breath.

“How do you know it isn't for you, if you have never tried it?” Dot pushed on with unusual persistence, while Miss Fisher stepped through into the living room.

“I have never tried Strychnine either, but can clearly state I have no wish to.” She pointed out, while inspecting a dusty photograph showing an elderly lady and two young girls. One of them was indeed Emily. Briefly she remembered Jack accusing her being tempted to try even Strychnine just to sate her lust for adventure. 

“That is not a very fair comparison.” Dot exclaimed from somewhere down the hall.

“I daresay it can have the same poisonous effect on a relationship. Possibly without the mess.”

“Miss!” Phryne heard her companion say urgently.

“I appreciate what you are trying to do, Dot, but there is no need for it. As things are, I do not believe the Inspector will propose after all.”

“Miss Fisher!”

The light panic in Mrs. Collins' yell finally got through to Phryne. On rushing towards her voice, she found her companion in the bedroom, looking pale and shaken at the woman lying on the bed. “Oh dear.” Phryne uttered. Mrs. Bryant was already cold.

 

X

 

Doctor MacMillan had just finished her rounds, when she heard urgent steps behind herself. She turned to see Amber Walters approach, looking rather flustered.

“Doctor, can I talk to you for a minute?” The student asked breathlessly. Mac showed her into her office and leaned against her desk.

“So?”

“I fear, we screwed up.” Amber stated, throwing her forehead into creases.

The doctor stared at her in silence.

“Jack and I.” Amber Walters explained. “Miss Fisher-”

A thunderstorm brewed on Doctor MacMillan's face as she cut the younger woman off. .

“Please don't tell me, you have done what I think you have!” She said in a dangerous voice that promised hell to pay, if she was confirmed in her suspicion. Amber stared at her gobsmacked.

“What? No!! We've been talking. About the kidnapping. But Miss Fisher walked in at a stupid time and I think she might have gotten ahold of the wrong end of the stick.”

She explained briefly the events, watching in relief as the face of her superior softened somewhat.

“Oh, Inspector.” Mac sighed, when her assistant had finished. “Right gesture at the wrong time.”

“So what do we do?” Amber asked, breathlessly.

Mac thrust a folder at her.

“ _You_ are going to take care of Mrs. Smith. And _I_ will go talk to our star-crossed couple.” She rubbed lipstick of the edge of her mouth, bracing herself for things to come. “Someone's gotta beat some sense into them.”

In the door she turned.

“Oh and try to not kill our patient. Even if it is tempting.” 

 

X

 

It was hot! Jack felt his brain boiling inside his skull, rendering any straight thought impossible. He rubbed his palms over his sweaty face. How was he supposed to piece this puzzle together, if he could not think? Even if he could stop worrying about Phryne's grasp on the conversation this morning. He must have looked rather intimate with Amber Walters. Of course, there was little more intimate than talking about your almost-demise with the person who kept you in this world. So, Phryne hadn't been completely wrong in thinking she walked into something. But surely she couldn't consider this as a betrayal, could she?

Jack Robinson decided to return to the other puzzle, the one that was probably deemed more urgent by most people. Again he flicked through the collection of folders on his desk. Coroner reports, crime scene protocols, witness statements. It was all there and all fitting neatly together. No secrets, no twists, just quick, cold-blooded murders. Everything was there, just one answer was missing and that was: Why? Why did he kill and why did he choose those victims? What was their connection? The notes the killer so graciously left weren't really any help, even with Mrs. Santi's translation.

DI Robinson remembered the mysterious party and what the men had said last night. “We do socialise outside of this club.” So, what if the guests of this party made up the victims? But then, Rosie hadn't been there. He had to talk to the gentlemen again, even though obviously even the threat of being murdered in their sleep did not loosen their tongues. Maybe it was one of them? The picture of John Morell appeared, unasked for. Jack could not have said why that man made his toenails curl, the politician had just something about himself that woke in the Inspector the urge to punch him. But could someone who was that exposed to public really pull of a series of murders that silently? And the question remained: Why? Why? WHY?!

Jack resisted the urge to slam his head onto the desk, when Hugh Collins flew through the door without knocking.

“Miss Fisher on the phone, Sir. She found another body!”

Inspector Robinson sighed.

“Of course she did.”

But deep down a small rock clattered off his heart. She was still talking to him, if only about murder.

 

X

 

Not even half an hour later, Miss Fisher opened the door of a small cottage hidden by plenty of greenery for her Inspector.

“I will not even ask, how you got in here.” Jack said, while stepping past her, instead of a greeting.

“My charms open many doors, Inspector.” She smiled, letting a sweaty Hugh pass.

“I believe in this case your charm consisted of hard metal, did it not, Miss Fisher?” Jack whispered to her, relieved beyond measure that the banter was back. His fingers involuntarily searched out his own charm in the pocket of his topcoat, indeed made of hard metal. Of course, it was a little insane to walk Melbourne's streets with a diamond in your pocket, but then again, insanity did not intimidate Detective-Inspector Robinson anymore, since he had met the Honourable Phryne Fisher. The ring, even though she might be refusing it, tied him to her in a way that he could not explain. It had been hers, long before he had ever bought it, in the same way that his heart had been hers long before he had given in. And with her by his side, he could face even a world that held brutal and insane killers.

While he thought about that, half enthralled in a banter about the many charms women hid, they had arrived at a smallish bedroom. On the bed lay, unmistakably, their body. It was an elderly lady, white haired and fragile and her skin was almost transparent in her death. With a frown the Inspector crouched down at her bedside, picking up a cold, grey hand.

“It's there.” Phryne stated quietly beside him. “Number seven. Not as deep as with Morgan, but I'm not sure if she had enough flesh to cut any deeper.”

Jack nodded, getting up. He inspected the victim's neck, where the angry marks of fingers showed.

“Looks like she was strangled.” He stated, aware that it was unnecessary.

“And also beaten.” Miss Fisher pointed out, gesturing to fresh bruises on the face and arms of the victim. Jack felt nauseous. Even for their killer, this was brutality that he had not really expected.

“I think I've seen enough.” He said, leaving the bedroom to let the rest of the arriving police do their job. Phryne caught up to him in the sitting room, where he was pacing, which limping, really was a rather amusing sight, if you didn't pay too much attention to his face.

“He must be changing his pattern.” The DI said, after she had watched him for a while. “An old lady. And she's certainly not rich.”

“That she isn't.” Miss Fisher stated calmly, letting herself sink onto the sofa. Jack stood, rubbing both hands over his face.

“I just can't get a grasp on him.” He finally admitted, miserably.

“Jack.” To his surprise, she pulled herself up, stepping closer than appropriate for a crime-scene and framing his hot face with both hands.   
“Listen. You are a good policeman and I have every faith in your abilities.” 

There was so much sincerity in her blue eyes, that he could do nothing but nod. Her hands slipped off his face, before the situation could however get overly sentimental.

“And then of course, you have me on your team.” She smirked.

“Speaking of which, how _did_ you get here, Miss Fisher?” The Inspector asked suspiciously.

Phryne turned to the black and white photograph again, where the old lady was framed by two young woman, all three smiling.

“As it turns out, the latest victim is Emily's grandmother. I fear, the family reunion I was hoping for is not going to happen.”

The Inspector moved beside Miss Fisher, brushing his knuckles lightly against the back of her hand in a gesture that could have almost been accidental and fixed his eyes on the picture. The woman in the middle was indeed the victim in the bedroom, the other one the girl he had greeted this morning, if a few years matured by now.

“Who would be the third woman?”

Phryne sighed. “Maybe a cousin or a sister? I don't believe she lives here.”

Jack looked at her questioningly.

“Only one item used of everything. The old lady was all alone.”

Thoughtfully, she retrieved the frame from its spot on the sideboard. Jack looked over her shoulder, inspecting the blonde locks curling around a pretty face with a frown.

“She appears vaguely familiar.”

“I am quite certain you would remember her, Jack. She happens to be rather pretty.”

Decisively the picture was put back down.

“Besides that I intend to find her.”

“How do you propose to do that then, Miss Fisher?” The Inspector asked bemused, watching her fish her hat from the table. She called for Dot, then smirked on her way to the door.

“I think it's time for a friendly chat with the neighbours.”

 

X

 

Jack's office was, if that was physically possible, hotter than outside, when he returned behind his desk. His fan fought a losing battle in the corner, moving hot air from one end of the room to the other. The Inspector fell onto his chair, currently envying Mrs. Collins. Knocking at doors with Phryne seemed infinitely more tempting than sorting through yet more paperwork on murder number seven. Seven! In only four days! How far would this killer go, if he didn't find him? There must be pattern, something that tied those people together. But no matter how he twisted it, the old lady didn't fit.

Poor Emily. Even though Phryne had only hinted at what had happened to her the other day, the Inspector had been working in this job long enough to be able to imagine the most gruesome of things. In sudden resolve he picked up his phone and got a connection with the City North Station established. After several rings, an annoyed sounding policeman picked up his call.

“This is Detective-Inspector Robinson from City South. I would like to make an enquiry about an anonymous girl you have found at...” He pondered for a moment, trying to remember the exact date Phryne had told Rosie. “...the 25th of November. Yes, the one in the Yarra.”

He listened, while the young officer grumpily explained, that a higher officer would call him back and hung up. Frowning, Jack stared at the dead phone, then shook his head. This heat really drove people crazy.

“Here you are! I was at your home already.” A voice from the door sounded, while his hand still hovered over the phone. Doctor MacMillan looked rather flustered, if to the heat or the obvious excitement was anybody's guess.

“What do I owe the pleasure to, Mac?” He asked calmly, refusing any responsibility for her hike and gesturing for her to sit.

“If it is a pleasure, remains to be seen.” She grumbled, but accepted the chair and a glass of water he placed in front of her, without asking. Obviously her medical knowledge indicated, that she needed it. Jack slipped back onto his chair and waited.

“But if you are wondering if there is any point to my visit, I did have a talk with Miss Walters earlier. It appears, you two have gotten rather friendly this morning?”

Jack couldn't help but roll his eyes.

“So you are the cavalry now, telling me, that I should not get too close to Amber, yes? You'll be happy to hear that I intend nothing of the kind.”

Mac waited for a moment.

“No, I'm telling you, that you should finally pop the question, Jack. You need to ask her or she will go out of her mind!”

The Inspector stared at her speechlessly.

“It might be news to you, but Miss Fisher does not want me to.” He stated slowly.

“Oh Phryne doesn't even know herself, what she bloody wants.” Mac exclaimed. “How blind can you be, Jack?”

Something in DI Robinson's head snapped. He did not have time for this right now. There was a way deadlier puzzle out there waiting for him, one that cost people their lives if he didn't solve it.

“Doctor, I hate to point this out, but you are currently in my place of work. And as much as I appreciate your insight into the psyche of the lovely Miss Fisher, proposing is currently about the last thing on my mind, while I am falling over bodies everywhere I go. I assume, you are reading the papers?”

He lifted one that was lying on his desk and slapped it back down. The journalist obviously had enjoyed the gruesome tale, down to the last details. Jack had wondered earlier, who of the housemaids might have blabbed to the press. But there was no point in pursuing it.

“So, if you don't mind, Mac, I'd rather get back to work and find the serial killer who broke into our house last night, so he does not get to anyone in there before I get to him.”

He raised his eyebrows at the doctor, who stayed silent, with her mouth open. The phone rang just in this instance and Jack picked it up without taking his eyes off his opposite.

It was a brief conversation, while the doctor watched the grey eyes growing bigger in size.

“Charles Bungard? Are you sure? Thank you.”

Jack rang off and got to his feet.

“As much as I enjoyed our conversation, I have to go.”

He grabbed his coat, then changed his mind and hung it back up. It was 40 degrees outside and where he was going, he didn't need his armor.

“Development?” Mac asked, pulling herself to her feet.

“It seems, Miss Fisher was on his tail all along.” The Inspector stated and opened the door for the redhead, who stepped through it with some hesitation, before watching DI Robinson rush off.

 


	16. Pomegranate

“You cannot be serious! What do I have to do, so you remember to take your ke...” The woman stopped mid-word upon spotting the two ladies at her doorstep, turning a shade of purple, that went along rather lovely with her fluffy pink dressing gown.

“I'm so sorry.” She stammered, pulling on the fabric, which didn't make it in the slightest bit less ridiculous. “I thought you to be my son. I was just getting changed for afternoon tea at my friend Berta's and he always forgets his key. Every day!”

She seemed to remember, that there was still two woman standing in the brooding heat, who were probably not quite as interested in her sons incapability to unlock doors as she was and showed them through to her sitting room. After the ladies had sat down onto her sofa like hens on a roost, and politely denied a cup of tea, the taller one cleared her throat.

“Mrs...”

“Whitmoore.” The woman provided, fiddling with her half done hair.

“Have you heard already of Mrs. Bryant?”

A pair of hand dropped into a lap, hairdo completely forgotten.

“What happened?”

“She is dead, Mrs. Whitmoore.”

“Oh dear. Her heart? It must have been her heart. I always told her she need not stress so much, but she just wouldn't listen.”

Miss Fisher had opened her mouth to set the lady straight, but closed it again as she babbled on. There was no need for too much information.

“And those two ungrateful granddaughters of hers. They should be ashamed. She brought them up like her own children after the dreadful accident. Had everything in the world those two girls, and then they just up and left her all alone.”

The detectives attention spiked at this.

“When was that, Mrs. Whitmoore.”

“Oh Louisa left first, sometime before Christmas. There's rumours she eloped with some handsome young bloke. Some say they seen her walk her home before, but I believe that to be nonsense. But she is a pretty girl, our Lousia, I grant her that. Both are actually.”

Dorothy Williams could feel her Mistress holding on to her patience by the skin of her teeth and decided to pitch in.

“You mentioned another girl? Her sister?”

“Oh Susan? Susan was always a bit of a free spirit, that's what Mrs. Bryant called it. A tomboy I would say, always torn dresses, always hanging out with the boys. Didn't stay long either, after her sister had buggered off. Obviously was too good to stay home with her old granny and take care of her. Rumour goes, she went travelling overseas, but then she might have just thrown herself at some man. She brought home quite a few, some looking like trouble.”

Dot chewed thoughtfully on her lips, while Miss Fisher tried one last, hopeful push.

“So you do not know where she is?”

“As I said, wouldn't have a clue, where either of them ended up.”

The lady-detective didn't feel the need to tell her that she at least knew exactly where Louisa was currently staying. Instead she got to her feet.

“Thank you, Mrs. Whitmoore, you were most helpful.”

“No worries, all you have to do is ask, and I tell you all I know.”

“Of that I'm certain.” Stated Miss Fisher under her breath and shot the lady a smile, before turning herself and her companion to the door. Only after they had left, did Mrs. Whitmoore realise, that she was now seriously late for afternoon tea at her friend Berta's.

 

X

 

“Miss, what do you think happened to Susan?” Dorothy Collins asked, as soon as they were back on the road. Miss Fisher didn't answer this for a while. She found, she really didn't want to.

“I don't know, Dot. But I fear something similar to what happened to her sister. Maybe she witnessed the attack on Emily and someone shut her up. Let her vanish, just like Louisa.”

She shuddered at the thought, despite the hot air that brushed past her face resembling the feeling of sticking a head into an oven.

“You think she has been murdered?” Dot asked, after a pause.

“It's a possibility. But if she has been, her body must have appeared somewhere by now. Maybe that's why she seemed familiar to Jack.” Phryne mused, turning the car towards the City South Station. Dorothy said nothing, she just stared out into the streets flying past, blinking some tears away that she would have sworn, were caused only by the hot wind stinging in her eyes.

 

X

 

 

Jack would probably have been pleased, had he known that Miss Fisher was currently looking for him. As it was, he was vaguely hoping to find her at her house. Despite the knowledge that he needed to urgently talk to Emily about her rescuer from the Yarra, he really _wanted_ to speak to Phryne. As it turned out, he would for the moment get around to neither, as Mr. Butler opened the door in stoic politeness and informed him that he had a guest.

“Hello, stranger.” A calm, female voice sounded the very same second from the door to the parlour, causing his head to fly around.

“Iris? What are you doing here? I thought you were visiting your mother-in-law.”

“I found that my best friend's husband's murder was enough cause to take the next train and leave the dragon-taming to Rupert.” She informed him, without removing her locked arms from her chest. Detective-Inspector Robinson felt unsettled at the calm anger she was radiating. Especially, since she didn't even bother to greet him with their usual hug.

“What have you done to her, by the way? She is completely out of it.”

“Doctor MacMillan gave her something to sleep last night, after the killer came after her.”

Iris' eyes widened in shock.

“That explains the police officer that I had to wrestle to get into her room. But not why on earth you came up with the idea of bringing her here, of all places, Jack! A little tasteless, don't you think?”

The Inspector shrugged helplessly at this.

“Where else could I take her? George and Cynthia are in England and she refused to stay in her house. I could hardly abandon her, could I?”

“So you chose to take her into your love nest?”

A bitter laugh followed this statement that made this cheerful house full of loving people sound like a brothel. Jack felt his hands clench into fists in his pockets. The right one wrapped itself around a small square box. He had to stay calm. Of course, this must look terrible to Iris, who was incredibly fond of Rosie and had suffered under the crumbling of his marriage almost as much as himself. And Jack adored his cousin, who usually shared his sense of humour, and frequently his secrets, ever since they had been children. In fact, she was probably what he would have called his best friend. Which only made it cut deeper, when she stepped towards him and pulled him roughly into the parlour, glittering at him angrily.

“Have you gone completely out of your mind, Jack?!”

 

X

 

 

Hugh Collins tore himself away from paperwork, on the arrival of his wife and Miss Fisher. He looked like an ice-cream-cone left too long in the sun.

“Hello Hugh. Any progress on our killer?” Miss Fisher asked, glancing into Jack's office that was disappointingly empty. Dot snuck her husband a kiss.

“I think so, Miss. The Inspector didn't tell me anything, but he left for your house earlier, wanting to talk to the girl.”

Miss Fisher looked up from the papers she had been riffling through.

“To Emily?”

“I believe so, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne dropped the papers.

“Well, pack up Dot, we are heading home to see what the Inspector found. Hold the fortress, Hugh.”

She swept out the door, with the spouses trading a look behind her back.

“I'll bring you lunch, when we are done.” Dot promised, brushing another kiss on her husband's cheek, who currently didn't look particularly happy. Then she was after her Mistress, glad she didn't have to stay in the baking Station.

Minutes later, the Hispano-Suiza shot through the side street leading to the Fisher residence.

“Miss.” Dot panted, holding on to her hat and life. “Would you mind, if I drop off at my house. I better get some lunch ready for Hugh?”

“It's almost tea time, Dot.”

“I don't think his stomach cares, Miss!”

With screeching tyres, Phryne pulled over in front of the small town house.

“I think we'll leave the car out, something tells me, we won't be staying long.” She said, jumping onto the street. A little green around the nose, her companion climbed down on her side, fishing her key out of her pocket, while stalking to the front door on wobbly knees.

“Would you like some tea, Miss Fisher?” She offered, as she opened the door to her own little kingdom. Her Mistress glanced at the burning sun and refused politely, stepping into the cooler hallway.

“Thank you, Dot, I think I might head straight over to see Jack. I'll let you know when we leave for the Station again.”

Dot smiled after Miss Fisher, as she stepped through the connecting door into her own house, then turned to head for her kitchen to prepare a meal. Miss Fisher walked down the gloomy hall, past the doors to almost forgotten rooms, a half-dozing police officer who was still guarding Rosie Fletcher, and had almost reached the stairs when she heard the raised voices.

“...I am not angry, Jack, I am worried about you!”

“And whatever would be the reason for that? I am perfectly fine.”

“Are you? I wouldn't know, as I haven't seen you in months. In fact, nobody in your family has. You hardly even call!”

A moment of silence followed, while Phryne hid behind the stairs, holding her breath. She had never heard the woman's voice before, she was sure of it. But she had an inkling, who it was.

“Father made quite clear what he thought of my choices. I decided, I would not bother him with my presence.”

The pain tingeing those words burned through both women's chests like liquid iron. Iris stepped closer to her cousin, touching his arm in a comforting gesture.

“Jack, he doesn't mean that. He cares about you and he's worried. We all are!”

“I do not need you to worry about me.” The Inspector said stiffly. “In fact, I'd rather you wouldn't.”

A silent stand-off of glittering eyes followed. The two people in the parlour were too absorbed to notice Phryne, who watched them quietly, breathlessly, from her hiding place.

“What's happening with you, Jack?” Iris finally asked, her voice having softened somewhat.

“You were always so clear in what you wanted. Strong, and straight and dignified. And now?”

“What now?” He snapped.

“Now you play the lover for some rich social butterfly, who will tire of you eventually. And what then, Jack?”

Iris could see it in his face, regretting the words the moment they were spoken. But it was too late. If she had slapped him, she could not have hurt him any more. Miss Fisher, from her hiding place behind the stairs watched as her lover turned to stone, slamming up his shields against a person he trusted and yet, the thorn was already deep in the flesh. Her thoughts were racing. So this was what Jack's family thought of her? That she scraped on his dignity? His pride? And he had withdrawn from them to save himself the pain of their judgement. Phryne felt like a fool. She had believed him to be happy, for everything to be wonderful and he had battled this, without sharing it. Impotent anger bubbled at that thought in the pit of her stomach. A gentle hand touched her shoulder.

“Are you alright, Miss.”

Phryne looked into the soft eyes of Mr. Butler and shook her head, then bolted upstairs, without caring if Jack and his guest could see her. Oblivious to this, the Inspector found his breath to speak again.

“I think it is time you left, Iris.”

Now his cousin looked close to tears.

“Jack, I'm so sorry, I didn't-”

The Detective-Inspector's voice shook with restrained anger as he cut her off.

“You come here, into this house, and you insult Miss Fisher. That is unacceptable. You might find it strange that Rosie is here right now, but I don't. She was invited into this house by Phryne, in a time of need. And not because Miss Fisher likes her being here, nor because she plays silly games, but because that, Iris, is the woman she _is_. And as for me, I am with her because I want to be. She hasn't bewitched me with some evil black magic trick, that you seem to accuse her of. I belong and, Iris, for the first time in a decade, I am actually happy! If that is not good enough for the people who claim to care about me, then I am very sorry for all of you.”

He still panted in righteous anger, when he finished. Iris stared into his eyes for a long moment, then she slowly nodded.

“Alright.” She said, nothing more. Then she turned to the door and picked up her hat. “I'll be back for Rosie tomorrow.”

“As you please.” Jack said, currently not in the mood for pleasantries. He felt Mr. Butler hovering, God knew, how much of this he had heard. As soon as the front door closed behind his cousin, the servant was in the room.

“Sir.”

Jack rubbed his hands over his tired face, without looking up.

“Mr. Butler?”

“I thought you might like to know that Miss Fisher went upstairs five minutes ago.”

Jack stared at him as if a bolt of lightning had hit him, than ran past him and up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

 


	17. Redcurrent

Jack Robinson didn't search for Miss Fisher. Instead, he headed straight to where he knew he would find her. Phryne stood at the balustrade, her back to him, holding on to the white railing so hard, that her knuckles stood out.

“Phryne?”

She didn't turn around, though she must have heard him. Carefully, he stepped closer, aware that he could not easily mend, what Iris might have smashed to bits. His wound was throbbing under the mistreatment; he had no mind for it. He touched her shoulder, but still, she didn't move a muscle.

“This isn't working out, Jack.” She said so coldly, that his hand flinched back.

“Phryne-” He tried again, now seriously worried.

“You should leave.”

Jack could feel his heart skip a beat. There was no pain, instead he felt numb, like he had stumbled into thick fog. He knew that deep down his heart must be breaking, that the full impact would hit him soon, but right now it was too surreal to believe. And somewhere in his shock grew a boldness that he hadn't expected, a daring, loud voice, that screamed “No”, at the top of it's lungs.

“No!” He said, quietly. Calmly. Now she finally turned. Stared at him in disbelief. Jack Robinson was a policeman, he was well aware that he was overstepping a line. It was her house after all and he was not welcome anymore, but yet, he stood his ground. There was too much at stake.

“No.” He repeated. “I won't accept it.”

Only now he saw the tears glitter in her eyes, as her stoic facade started to crumble, felt his own throat tighten.

“I asked you to leave!”

“And I refused. I will not let you do this to us.”

A first drop found it's way down her cheek.

“Please leave, Jack!”

Desperation had crept into her voice, as she all but begged him to go. Leave before he could break her heart – even though both knew, that it was too late for that. Instead he reached out and framed her face with both hands.

“I am not going anywhere, before you have told me what's the matter.”

A sob escaped her throat, but she would not budge. Not yet give in to his lingering warm arms holding her upright. Jack's vision went blurry, as tears filled his eyes. He could not let this happen.

“Phryne.” He whispered, while threatening to choke. “Please talk to me. What are you thinking?”

She looked past him with a glassy stare and he almost convinced himself that she might have gone into some sort of hypnotic state, blending him out, when she spoke again.

“What would you think of a man, who buys a ring and then does not follow through, Jack?”

The Inspector's brows rose in shock, but she babbled on, before he could give an answer.

“Would you think he just changed his mind? Or is he too deeply attached to somebody else?”

He flinched at that. How could she even consider that? Licking his dry lips, he racked his brain for the right words, but all his attempts to explain himself drowned in the tears that finally overwhelmed her. Jack Robinson could do nothing but hold onto her, as she broke down in sobs in a way that Miss Fisher did not cry in. In fact, he had seen her only once in the whole time of their acquaintance weep like this. It had been the face of losing someone she had desperately loved. He realised with a start, that this was exactly what she thought was happening and the idea that he could actually hurt her this much, touched and scared him in equal amounts.

Jack wrapped his arms around his lover tightly, holding her to himself, felt her heart beat against his chest. After a while he noticed that there were tears running down his own cheeks, dripping onto her hair like glittering dew. So they stood, quietly in the afternoon on the rooftop, tightly entwined till the sobs grew silent and they ran out of things to cry over.

Jack felt weak, drained, as if the tears had taken all his strength with them. He gently guided Phryne to sit down with him, leaving a protective arm wrapped around her that she accepted. They sat for a while without saying a word, the Inspector hoping that his actions were clear enough, Phryne silently berating herself for having come here. Of all the places she could've chosen to hide from him, she had decided on the one that was not hers, not his, but theirs. She felt confused and numb, not sure what his hesitance meant, but then he was a good man, a honourable man. Surely she could not expect him to just up and leave, as soon as she gave him permission.

“Maybe your cousin is right.” She heard herself say as if watching from outside. “We might tire of each other someday, Jack. And what do we have then? You might yet have a chance for a family with Rosie. And only a blind man could not see that she still cares for you.”

He nodded slowly. Iris had suggested something similarly dumb earlier, that he had declared nonsense without a moments thought. While Jack was not sure what Rosie felt for him, he knew where his own heart lay, beyond the shadow of a doubt.

“You're right, Miss Fisher. That makes perfect sense.”

Despite herself, Phryne felt her chest tighten. As hard as she was pushing him away, she did not want him to leave. He was not supposed to agree! His arm still tightly held her and now he was actually smiling, as he looked up and gazed at her.

“There is only one tiny flaw within your plan, Miss Fisher. I think Rosie might not appreciate that I am in love with somebody else.”

The tears were back before the words had sunk in. She stared at him in silence, before her lips finally curled into a watery smile.

“She's a little insane, I grant you.” The Inspector said, smirking, but also with a suspicious wetness lurking around his irises. “But she is also kind and brilliant and beautiful. At least, when she's not crying.” He grinned and wiped some tears of her cheek. “So, Miss Fisher, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather tire of her for the rest of my life.”

Phryne finally allowed herself to give into the overwhelming relief. There were more tears; a quite salty kiss; soft, gentle fingers on her face; lips pressed to her forehead, mixed with Jack's smell and her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. They finally resurfaced, half laughing, half crying wrapped together in a weird, wet mess of crumpled clothes, tears and sweat as the Australian sun burned down on them mercilessly. Not that it mattered at the moment. Phryne noticed something stabbing her into the hip and shuffled slightly, a movement, that did not go past the Inspector's watchful eyes. He pulled the ring box out of his pocket with slight embarrassment.

“It just didn't seem the right time yet. Asking for your hand over a dead body might be just your style, Miss Fisher, but it isn't mine.”

The lady-detective rolled her eyes at him, then, with gentle fingers, she took the box from his hands, flicked it open and felt golden stars flutter through her stomach as she inspected the black diamond in sunlight for the first time. Her lover watched her carefully.

“You are holding my heart in your hands, Phryne. It is all yours.” Jack whispered hoarsely.

“Just be gentle with it, it's quite breakable.” He joked, in a try to break up the utter soppiness of this and smirked a rather loopy smirk. Phryne, tenderly, as if touching a hurt butterfly, ran her fingers over the stone.

“What if we never get married, Jack?” She asked into the silence. He knitted his brows at this, but didn't hesitate in answering.

“Then I will just have to remain as the lover of this rich social butterfly. I find I'm quite content with that.”

She searched out his eyes, looking for the pain, but realised that there was none. Instead he smirked at her, before gently retrieving the box from her fingers, snapping it shut and shoving it back into his pocket without tearing his eyes from her. Phryne's heart fluttered in her chest, tiny sparkles danced.

A polite knock on the roof door shook them out of their privacy. Mr. Butler's head appeared, not in the slightest surprised at the mess they looked.

“I apologize for interrupting, but there is an urgent call from the Station, Sir.”

Jack nodded, peeling himself from the floor and dusting off his pants in a vain attempt at becoming representable again. Then he stretched out his hand to Phryne, who gratefully took it as he tilted his head.

“Fancy a murder, Miss Fisher?”

 

X

 

The killer had indeed changed his pattern. The small room in the boarding house, in which the body lay, had nothing in common with the mansions in which DI Robinson had walked in the last few days. Disturbed, curious people huddled in the hall outside the girl's accommodation.

“Do we know who the woman was, Constable?” Asked the Inspector, crouching down beside the corpse, who had died with a surprised look across her face from a obviously nasty head wound.

“Not yet, Sir. We are waiting for her to be identified by the owner of this establishment. Amongst her neighbours she has been known as Kiki, she had been only living here for a few weeks and they think she was currently not employed.”

“Not much to go on then.” Miss Fisher concluded, picking up the girl's hand. The number was there, but she started all the same.

“Jack?”

He tore his attention from Hugh Collins and had a closer look at the cooling skin, Phryne was holding up for him. Frowning he locked eyes with his fellow detective.

“Seven?”

“That's odd. Do you think our killer was disturbed before he was done with his signature?”

“Maybe he just ran past the limit of his counting abilities.” The Inspector stated dryly.

Phryne chewed on her lip while she released the hand, then inspected the wound. They both knew, that there was a third possibility, but they didn't really want to think about it just now.

“Looks like a blunt trauma.” He stated, realising that Phryne had gone.

“I would consider this as the murder weapon.” She stated, holding up a metal poker, leaning beside the tiny wood oven. “Oh look, a smear of blood.”

She handed the iron stick to Collins, stretching out her hand to help the Inspector to his feet.

“Not, that I expect it to help much.” She said quietly. He looked tired, she noticed. Probably running on empty after several nights with no decent sleep and a whirlwind of emotion. And really, Phryne just wanted to take him home right now and make him get some rest, but she knew him well enough to sense that he was also wound up now. He fished the balled up note out of the trash a moment later.

“This is still Chinese to me.” He concluded, after looking at the now familiar words.

“Japanese.” Phryne corrected.

“Maybe we should actually ask someone, who knows about Buddhism.” Jack Robinson stated. “Nothing against Mrs. Santi, but there must be some secret to this.”

“Haven't I told, Jack? I could have sworn I told you.”

“Told me what, Miss Fisher?” He asked, stepping closer to where she riffled through the girls belongings and almost falling over a cigar-bud half squished into the carpet.

“That I found out the secret of the third word. It is a mistranslation. From a book of poems. The author of said poem has obviously not done his research and gave the third monkey a wrong name.” Jack closed his eyes in amusement.

“Are you telling me, Miss Fisher, that our killer has messed up his secret message by copying a mistranslation out of a book?”

“So it seems, Inspector.”

She did not witness him bag the remains of the cigar, while searching through the bed. At a pillow she stopped, shook it again.

“Look at this, Jack.” She said, emptying it out onto the mattress. He did. His mouth fell open at he stared at a small pile of banknotes.

“'Kiki' was not as poor as she made everyone believe, Jack.”

 

X

 

When Rosie Fletcher awoke, the sun had already decided on setting again. Her mouth felt awfully dry and her limbs were like lead, even though she had a suspicion she might have slept for a week. She felt for the small cut on her throat, but found only a bandage covering up the wound. So she had not been dreaming. The killer had actually been here. With a start she sat up in her bed, her heart pounding at the memory. But the room was decidedly empty. Someone had opened the window a tad, warm evening wind sweeping in, playing with the curtains. It was a nice room, she had to admit. The walls were of a soft apricot colour, not quite a blunt as other parts of the house she had seen and the sheets were heavenly soft and a tad glamorous. Miss Fisher obviously had no intention on treating her house guests with anything else but hospitality, even if they were unwanted. Rosie sighed. She had no delusions that either Jack or Phryne Fisher were overly pleased with her stay under their roof. What surprised Rosie was, the ease with which her former husband moved through this house. He wasn't a permanent guest at Miss Fisher's mercy, as she had thought. He was the master of this house, that's how he acted and that's how he was treated. And it had driven home, even more than walking into his bedroom and finding him wrapped around his lover had, the fact that someone else had taken her place. Someone who made his eyes sparkle in a way that Rosie had not managed for many years. It hurt and it also made her angry. But then, she couldn't really blame him alone. She had taken her hat after 12 years of marriage, from which only two had been happy and six hopeful ones. In the end, she had given up running against the walls he had brought back from war, had stopped trying to find the man she had loved in the  polite emptiness that seemed to fill his insides.  But that  hadn't been the reason she had left. It might never have been enough to make her leave; he was still pleasant company, even though he might have lost all fire that had once sparkled in his eyes. It had been the moment that she had stood in front of her bedroom mirror and realised, that she had turned into a spiteful woman. The annoying, pushy, never satisfied kind, that her mother had been, God rest her soul,  the kind she had sworn to herself she would never become. That was the moment her marriage had ended. It had still hurt to let him go, let the dreams die, accept the shame and the fact that she might never have children of her own. Accept that Jack Robinson was lost to her forever. 

And there came Miss Fisher and peeled him out of his shields, with seemingly no effort at all, breathed life back into him with a snap of her fingers. It was infuriating. What was even more annoying was, that she really was not especiallz dispicable. Rosie found to her surprise that she rather liked the other woman, who had everything that she didn't and yet, didn't seem arrogant in her graciousness. She actually believed that Miss Fisher had taken her in out of kindness, rather than calculation and that she would be a welcome guest, even if welcome with a clenched jaw, as long as she needed. Not that she really had any intention on staying here any longer than she absolutely had to. Rosie swung her legs on the edge of the bed, considering if she could just hide in here for a while longer. Even though she had come to terms with the fact that Jack was out of her reach, it was still rather hard to bear, watching him look at a new woman the way he had once looked at her. She wondered if he had felt that way about Sidney?

Her gaze caught on a piece of paper on her night stand. She picked it up and smiled to herself. She had slept through Iris' visit, but her friend promised to come back the next afternoon to pick her up. That would solve the problem of her staying here. With new enthusiasm she slung a dressing gown of bright silk over her shoulders and readied herself for her last evening under Phryne Fisher's roof.

When she stepped out into the hall a mere half hour later, she found the house surprisingly empty. A young police officer greeted her, who was sitting stiffly on a chair outside her door. So Jack had actually been worried. She smiled at the Constable, as she watched the realisation dawn on his face, that guarding an empty room was really rather silly, then headed out towards the parlour.

The only occupant here was a young girl with dark hair, who was currently knitting something that Rosie would rather have not tried to describe. When she heard the other woman approach, she looked up from her work and gave her a broad smile.

“Mrs. Fletcher, I assume?”

She got up, to greet Rosie, who looked stunned.

“I'm Emily. Sadly no surname to be shared. In fact, I think the first name is rather wrong to.” She said, as if that was the most normal thing in the world to state and sank back down, picking up her needles. Recognition dawned on Rosie Fletcher's face.

“You're the girl without her memory?”

The girl nodded, seemingly counting her rows.

“I didn't know you were staying here.” Rosie admitted, letting herself slip into one of the incredibly comfortable armchairs, where she realised, her book was still waiting for her on a small table. She blushed slightly at the idea that Jack or Miss Fisher might have noticed her reading material.

“I fear, Miss Fisher had to take me in, as I had nowhere else to go.” Emily-Louisa stated. “Memory loss is quite bad for life-style decisions.”

“I can relate.” Rosie sighed. “To the being picked up like a stray, not the memory loss.”

The two strays locked their eyes across the room and smirked at each other.


	18. Bananas

There was something incredibly calming about the way she turned the pages, DI Robinson found himself thinking. The pile of papers, that, with eight murders on his hands, had turned into the tower of Pisa on his desk, had seemed quite scary when he had left it behind only three hours ago. But while Miss Fisher brought chaos into his tidy workplace, as usually, she also made the tower a whole lot less threatening. With her here he could think, even in the oven that was his office at the moment. Jack got up to open the window to a light evening breeze, then sat back down, watching her read on. Finally she looked up.

“Right.” She said. “So we have six victims belonging to high society, some of them known to keep each others company inside the 'Poseidon Club' amongst other occasions and a couple, whose marriage went on a downwards spiral for no apparent reason after they hosted a mysterious dinner party. That draws a pretty clear picture, does it not?”

Jack nodded. “It does. But how do our last two victims fit in? And why the seven in both of their hands?”

“A copycat killer? The papers have been full of the murders for days, in every detail.”

“Everything but one, Miss Fisher. The press knows nothing about the notes.”

“Well, there was no note found as Mrs. Bryant's house. Then again, her bin was emptied that very morning and she was a rather tidy old lady.”

Jack opened his mouth, but closed it again as a knock promised Constable Collins' arrival. The young policeman looked rather excited, handing a sheet of paper to his superior.

“Sir, we found something in the bank accounts of Mrs. Bryant. There was £200 paid into it, only two weeks ago.” 

“Thank you, Collins. Any headway on the girl's identity yet?”

“None, Sir. The owner seems to be not keen on cooperating with the police.”

“Well, Constable, I think you better explain to him, it is not optional. Tell him about the incredible comfort of our cells if you have to.”

“Very well, Sir. I shall make him the offer, once I get a hold of him.”

The Constable pulled the door shut behind himself and Miss Fisher wondered for a moment, if Dot had ever returned with that promised lunch. Jack was studying the document in his hand.

“So Mrs. Bryant was not poor either. Quite the opposite.”

“There goes the copycat theory.” Phryne cut in.

“But where did the money come from? And why was the killer interested in that?”

Miss Fisher took the paper from his hands.

“What if they were paid off?”

“By whom though?”

“Let's assume the dinner party is the key to those murders and something happened there. A secret got exposed. The killer is trying to shut people up, maybe with threats, with money. But they blab anyway, so he goes and murders everybody who knows his dirty little secret. It would fit with the messages.”

Jack pondered this for a moment.

“But Mrs. Bryant would hardly have been a guest at that party. And Rosie definitely wasn't.”

Miss Fisher chewed on her lips, thinking this over.

“Maybe the killer thinks they have been informed by someone else. Sidney definitely would have known something. He might have shared it with Rosie. And Mrs. Bryant. Maybe one of her granddaughters was there.”

Jack Robinson's forehead fell into creases.

“I can hardly see any of those girls sitting at a table with John Morell and Sidney Fletcher, can you?”

Miss Fisher shook her head, picking up another folder that would tell her nothing new.

“There must be some connection.”

Jack remembered something.

“Actually, there is. You know who fished Emily out of the Yarra?”

“I'm sure, you will tell me any second, Jack.” Phryne smiled, not looking up.

“Charles Bungard!”

Her head flew up.

“Our Charles Bungard? The first victim?”

Jack couldn't help but enjoy having left her almost speechless for once.

“That's the one. Rescued her from the river like a knight in shining armour.”

“Maybe he knew where to find her.” Phryne mused darkly. Their eyes locked over the table. It was obvious, but neither wanted to say it aloud. Whatever had happened to Emily was the dark secret that the killer was attempting to hide from the world.

 

X

 

Jack Robinson was alone again, and he felt it. They had agreed that it made most sense for Miss Fisher to return to her home and talk to Emily and Rosie to figure out, if they could remember anything of importance. At least in Emily's case that task would probably prove to be futile, but he had a fair idea, that it was the chat with Rosie, that she was more worried about. But then again, Miss Fisher had visibly found her way back into her skin again since their confrontation on the rooftop. The Inspector recognized, that his knees were still shaky at the thought that she had almost succeeded in sending him away. Her desperation had gotten under his skin and still lingered there, without real power, but the feel of having survived a battle. Wrapping his head around the fact that she actually, if briefly, had thought him capable of returning to Rosie's side, was even harder. He remembered vaguely Mac's warning: That he had to ask for Phryne's hand if she wanted him to or not, or she would go out of her mind. Jack made a mental note to listen to the doctor's advice in future. Proposing to Miss Fisher might be risky business, but not asking her could prove a lot more dangerous in the long run. But how was that to be accomplished? A million versions of the big moment had run through his mind since he had bought the ring, but none of them seemed to do her or their relationship any credit. He was quite certain, that red roses and bent knee were not her vision of a romantic moment. But then a yelled “Will you?” at the top of his lungs, while they were chasing after a killer, wasn't his. Jack smiled at the thought of all the things she might find exciting. No, it would not do. He shook himself out of his daydreams in order to finally return to his task of locating any trace of Susan Bryant or probably her body. The file on anonymous female bodies brought no results though and neither did contacting any of the other stations. Susan had vanished from the face of the earth. If she was alive, she was in danger and they needed to find her. Surely, if she knew who had raped and hurt her sister, she was the most likely to open her mouth. So maybe she had run from the killer. Possibly she was actually on her way to the continent, as rumour said? Jack inspected his watch and sighed. Today there would be no answers anymore to questions about leaving travellers. 

The sound of heels on the station floor made him smile. She had been fast. But when the DI looked up at his opening office door, his smirk froze to his face. It wasn't Phryne.

 

 

X

 

In fact Miss Fisher was currently sitting in one of her armchairs, reminding herself to have friendly feelings towards the woman in front of her. She found this a lot easier than she had earlier, when she had been convinced that Jack was falling for his former wife again. In the light of his words, that had sunk deep into her soul, leaving a trail of golden sparkles along her nerve endings, she actually had to admit, if somewhat grumpily, that Rosie Fletcher was a rather nice lady. Of course, Jack Robinson would not just have married anyone, would he? He wanted to marry her, Phryne Fisher, she realised with a start. How sure must he be to want to try this all over again, after his first bond had failed and left him heart-broken? He actually intended to promise her the rest of his life!

The Honourable Phryne Fisher had never really thought about forever. Of course, she had hoped that it would last, she even found that the idea of it ending today on the roof had taken her breath away in dread. But every day with the Inspector had seemed like a flower up till now. Beautiful and precious, but also fragile. Miss Fisher was not exactly considering herself to possess a green thumb and while she was very experienced in many aspects of love, her knowledge did not really contain matters of the heart. The chance that she would cause the seedling of their love to wither eventually had always seemed rather likely to her. Not that she really had wanted to think about that. Thinking too hard about future tragedies was not a habit she ever intended to take up. She prefered drifting and smelling the flower and trying to remember to water it occasionally. But here she was now, considering forever. 

Phryne hadn't realised under what pressure Jack had been the whole time - that he had fallen out with his father over this 'immoral' relationship, withdrawn from the woman he had confided in for most of his life. She wondered, what else he had endured. Whispers at the station? The rumours about him being a 'kept man', a 'gold digger', a 'toy'? If even his cousin thought those things, how much more would his co-workers talk behind his back?

He must have suffered under this. Willingly. Coming home to her every night nevertheless. For him, their bond was a serious matter and she realised with a start – so it was for her! Always had been. Maybe she was losing her means of being alone, but it became suddenly clear as daylight, that it didn't matter. Because he would not leave again. Never again. She would hold on to him, as hard as she could. Phryne found, she was shivering at the thought, her nerves strung close to snapping point. How on earth had she not realised this?

It took some concentration to resurface from the wave of happiness that was currently flooding her stomach and return her attention to the serious looking woman, who was racking her brain for any unusual information her husband might have shared. A wrinkle appeared between her brows, as she pondered. Then her expression changed to recognition.

“There was something. Sidney had a visitor the other day. I was upstairs myself but our housekeeper, Mrs. Rodnell, confided into me later. She had overheard them extending a few threats, about some business. God, I should have taken it seriously but he visited us so often, and things got heated sometimes, I never thought...” Rosie rubbed the bridge of her nose in despair.

Phryne leaned forward, trying to shake her out of it.

“Who, Rosie?”

Her opposite looked up in surprise, as if she wasn't aware she hadn't shared that yet.

“John Morell.”

 

X

 

“Are you intending to just sit there in silence or are you going to share the reason for your visit?” Jack Robinson asked the woman opposite his desk. He couldn't have said, if there was any humour in it. Iris fidgeted a while longer with the handbag cradled on her lap, then she finally tore her eyes from the surface of his desk.

“I had a think, Jack.”

His eyebrows rose at this, but he didn't say a word.

“Yes, I do that sometimes and as you have pointed out on numerous occasions not often enough before I speak.”

Jack just in time controlled the smirk that was threatening to give him away.

“The point I'm trying to make is, I was out of line on so many levels, I can not even begin to apologize for it all.”

“You could give it a shot.” He said, realising that despite all, he was still furious with her. She looked up.   
“I'm sorry, Jack. Truly am. I don't know your Miss Fisher and I'll admit I'm biased. It's hard not be be.”

The Inspector nodded. Of course she was biased. One of the reasons, he had never introduced her to Phryne. Maybe that had been a mistake. Miss Fisher could look very different at a quick glance as he himself had realised two years ago.

“She heard us this afternoon.” He stated into the silence, feeling a certain satisfaction when Iris paled in response. The silent humming of the fan filled the pause.

“Are you... Are you two alright?”

“Yes, we are. No thanks to you.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Iris Walker chewed on her lip.

“So, how serious is this thing, Jack? I just don't quite understand. Sidney... He made it sound like you are having a little dalliance. But I'm getting a fairly different impression here. So help me out, please.”

To Mrs. Walker's surprise her cousin got up without a word and pulled something from his pocket, setting it onto the desk.

“Is that what I think it is?” She asked, staring at the ring box in awe.

“It is exactly what you think it is. So, any more plans to match me up with other women, before I ask the question of questions?”

She shook her head and he sank back into his chair, somewhat reconciled.

“That was rather silly of me, wasn't it?”

“You think?”

To her relief, a smirk accompanied that question.

“When I got married to Rupert, Christian's mother showed up on my doorstep. Called me more names than I care to repeat.” Iris said in a neutral voice that Jack Robinson knew, was fake. He nodded at the seemingly random comment, as he had a faint idea where this was going.

“Sometimes it's harder for the people around you to accept that you've moved on.”

“Rosie isn't dead, though.” Jack stated, 'even though it was a close call', he finished the sentence quietly in his head. “And she married Sidney.”

Iris smiled at that.

“Not a very smart choice, if you care for my honest opinion.”

Jack couldn't help but grin at that.

“It might be better, if we keep that to ourselves though.”

Iris picked up the box and had a look at the piece of jewellery hidden inside it.

“Interesting choice of stone.” She commented, cocking her head. To her surprise, a faint blush crept onto the Inspectors cheeks.

“Ohh, there is a secret to it, isn't there?” She laughed, when the Inspector tried to snap the ring from her fingers. “Come on then, tell me.”

Jack sighed theatrically.

“Phryne called me a black diamond once.”

Iris' raised a perfect eyebrow at this, inspecting the sparkling stone closer.

“Because you are expensive and hard?”

The blush on the Inspectors face deepened, but he finally managed to salvage his treasure from her fingers.

“Because despite the darkness in my soul I am precious to her.” He said almost inaudibly, busying himself with storing the ring in the safety of his pocket again, instead of looking at his cousin. Iris gaped at him for a moment.

“Right. I think I just fell in love with your Miss Fisher, too.” She finally joked, noticing the faint sparkle in Jack's eyes. “But, I better get going home to my own precious.”

She fished her hat of his desk that she had disposed of in her earlier fidgeting and headed for the door. In the frame she turned.

“I hope it works out, Jack.”

He nodded with a slim smile.

“Get out of here, I have a killer to hunt down.”

She grinned.

“Night, Jack. And you better ring me. No excuses anymore.”

“No excuses.” He repeated and returned to his paperwork. He almost got around to reading half of Mrs. Bryant's Coroner's report, a nightmare filling description of cruelty to the elderly lady, when his door was ripped open once again. This time it was the woman he had expected.

“Miss Fisher. You took your time.” He stated, without looking up, as a hint of her perfume reached his nose.

“Yes, I did. But I have news, Jack.”

Now, he did raise his eyes from the report, watching her throw her hat in the same spot where Iris had picked up hers just minutes ago and slipping onto the edge of his desk.

“Well?” He asked, when she had settled comfortably. Just then outside of his door all hell broke loose. Phones rang, boots clattered over the floor. The word 'robbery' was shouted across the hallway. Jack kept looking at Phryne in expectation.

“Aren't you supposed to join into the excitement?” She asked pleasantly. He inspected his watch.

“I believe I have been off duty a whole three hours, Miss Fisher. So what about that news?”

“What would you say, if I told you, that Sidney Fletcher had quite a nasty argument, with one of his friends from the club.” Phryne enquired, playing with his papers, throwing into chaos, what he had just sorted.

“I would ask you who it was.” Jack said, pulling her hand gently off the pile and holding it a moment longer than strictly necessary for restraint.

“John Morell.” She paid no mind to the way, he sucked breath into his lungs at that and kept talking. “He came over for a business meeting sometime last week and according to the Fletcher's housekeeper, there were raised voices and also some threats of what would happen if mouths were opened. Sadly she does not recall, what it was about or who threatened whom. But I do have my suspicions.”

Inspector Robinson nodded at this, watching her mouth turn into a contented smirk, while the cars outside left and the Station calmed down to a level that he hardly ever experienced, even though he had worked through many nights. With a start he realised, that they were almost alone in his office for what might have been the first time in their acquaintance. His mouth went dry at the thought, as he watched her squirm on his desk, impatiently waiting for him to show a response to her exciting news. Sadly, Morell was currently not what he was thinking about. The Inspector tried to pull himself together and cleared his throat.

“So you think, Morell is our killer?”

“Well, the question remains, if he could pull it off. He is a rather prominent figure and I think it might be noticed if he sneaks out of parliament in a black hood, a knife in hand in his lunch breaks.”

“What do you make of this?” Jack asked, leaning over his desk to fish for the envelope with the cigar stub. His face brushed against her blouse in the process, which didn't help at all. Neither did her crossing her legs, while she accepted the piece of evidence, briefly flashing his attentive eyes a piece of the edge of her stocking. Jack found his fingers fish for the knot of his tie. Damn, it was hot in here. She had caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, looking down at him in amusement.

“You know, Jack, while you are technically not on duty, you could try and open that thing, before you die of a heat stroke.”

Gratefully, he loosened it somewhat, but found his fingers were clumsy, as they usually were while hormones were rushing through his veins. He seemed a lot better undressing her in those moments than himself. Jack wished, he hadn't thought that, the very moment he had.

“Here, let me.”

Her expert fingers were already at his throat before she had finished her sentence and unknotted the stupid tie in hardly any time. Jack closed his eyes as a deja vu hit him, together with the smell of her perfume enhanced by the warm blood pulsing underneath the skin of her wrist. Squished fruit was probably a lot more erotic than Coroner's-reports but then again, he had envisioned this a million times, every time really, she had climbed onto his desk and smiled at him. Certain bodyparts of the Inspector remembered every single one of those moments vividly. He licked his dry lips, trying to return his concentration to work, while Miss Fisher finally retrieved the cigar bud from its encasing.

“Wilchester.” She stated after a quick sniff. “Rather expensive taste. Where did you find it?”

“Beside 'Kiki's' body.” The Inspector stated, trying for slow, steady breaths. “She doesn't strike me as the kind of woman smoking cigar's in her bedroom.”

Phryne twisted the tobacco between her fingers in a way that made his breath hitch in his throat.

“No, it seems more like the kind of thing wealthy gentlemen would smoke over their brandy and politics. At a club for example.”

Jack nodded.

“I recognise the smell. Someone was smoking this tobacco the other night, when I paid our suspects a visit. But several of them smoked cigars. I was not overly interested in the brand at the time.”

“So we better pay them another visit.”

DI Robinson really was intending to protest that plan, to tell her that he'd rather she stayed away from the killer as far as possible, knowing that it would be in vain. But he made the mistake of fishing his evidence out of her fingers to return it to it's rightful place. Their warm skin brushed together, sparks scattered through the air and then Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson forgot where he was and why.

 


	19. Passionfruit

In retrospect Miss Fisher would never be quite sure, just how it had happened. They had been sitting in Jack's office, talking the case and while, yes, of course she had noticed, that his desire had grown with every accidental touch and every less accidental teasing, that usually didn't mean she could act on it, as she had figure out a long time ago. Usually. In fact, he had very decidedly defied her advances in a lot more compromising moments than tonight, in the past. Yet, suddenly his hand was running up her thigh in a movement, that was testing the water, but definitely not easily misunderstood. In fact, his intentions were blatantly clear, when he brushed her skirt up and caught her mouth with his. It admittedly took a moment before she got over her surprise, but here she was, panting into his mouth, as she pulled him closer to herself with every intention to indulge his spell of overwhelming lust. His hand had found her breasts through the layers of her blouse and while she wished, that they could just rip each other's clothes off, this was not an option, her foggy brain realised. The fact, that they were actually doing this in his office, on his desk, was forbidden and exciting, chasing hot shivers down her spine. Moaning under his touch, she unbuttoned his fly and Jack understood, pulling her hips onto the edge of the desk, pressing her against himself. Trashing fingers shuffled restrictive fabric out of the way and he was inside of her, clinging onto her in wild desperation, as if nothing mattered but this moment in time. While they discovered a frantic rhythm, Phryne dimly remembered the people that could return any moment, but she found, the fear actually enhanced the thrill of their adventure as she dug her fingers into his back, moving her hips against his. In a way that was more passionate than gentle, he bit into her earlobe, making her throw her head back. His heavy breath ghosted down her neck as she heard him whisper: “You have no idea, how often I dreamed of this.”

She actually whimpered at his words and the next thrust. Then a white explosion in her stomach ended his delicious torture, as she came, pulling him over the edge with her. Breathlessly she reached up to drag him into a gentle kiss. Their eyes met for a moment, and then they broke into giddy giggles at the exact same time. Jack slowly detangled himself from his lover, fixing his clothes.

“Miss Fisher, I think I might actually be losing my mind.”

Phryne pulled her skirt into place, crossed her legs and shuffled her blouse back to shape, before answering with a wink: “I believe, I quite enjoy this form of insanity, Inspector. Now, about that cigar.”

Still catching his breath, Jack sunk into his chair and returned the cigar bud into it's suspiciously crumpled envelope. When the other policemen returned about ten minutes later, two swearing robbers in tow, concentrated silence had fallen over Inspector Robinson's office.

 

X

 

“I actually find this book rather depressing.” Mrs. Fletcher said, slapping the heavily bound novel shut.

Neither of the two women who currently were sitting on the loveseat, untangling a ball of wool together, looked up from their work.

“What are you reading, Ma'am?” Dot asked curiously, nevertheless.

“ _Lady_ _Chatterley's_ _lover_. Scandalous it is said. Yet, I find little scandal in a woman who seems to be ruled by depression. Even though there are some hints of sexual acts.”

“You might not have quite reached the really scandalous parts as of yet. They are indeed more than hinted at.” Emily smiled towards the red wool.

Two pairs of eyes flew to her in surprise. She felt the need to explain herself.

“I adore books, and my superior at the library does not belief in cencor...” She trailed off, her already big, brown eyes widening in shock.

“I actually remember that.” She said after a long moment of silence, composed by three women holding their breaths simultaniously. “I remember reading this book.”

Dot dropped the wool, destroying the efforts of the last half hour and grabbed the girls hands.

“What else do you remember, Emily?”

The young woman seemed overwhelmed by the sudden attention. She found, Rosie Fletcher had also stalled in putting the book aside and was staring at her in wonder. Slowly she shook her head.

“Nothing much. Maybe a some faint pictures, a few nameless faces.”

“There got to be something. Think, Emily.” Rosie urged, kneeling down infront of her. Emily thought.

“A blonde girl. I think it's my sister.” She opened her eyes, chewing on her lips. “But I could be making it up. Miss Fisher showed me a photograph tonight. I could be just remembering the photograph.”

Two women nodded slowly.   
“It's coming back. You just need to be patient.” Dorothy said, after a pause.

Emily smiled a broad smile.

“You know, I think it might be.”

But despite the not overly helpful details of Emily's returned memory, all three women were giddy with a strange happiness, when they picked up their occupation again. Hardly ever had the memory of reading _“Lady_ _Chatterley's_ _lover”_ excited anyone as much as tonight. And that said something.

 

 

X

 

 

Jack Robinson watched her pacing. She didn't often pace in his office. But they both knew, that with every hour that went by, chances rose of the phone ringing again. Right now, it was suspiciously silent. He grabbed the coroner-report he hadn't quite finished with before and tried to read it, when something occurred to him.

“If the killer stole the invitation lists from Morton's office, that would explain, why he is hunting for Rosie. She was invited to the dinner, but did not attend.”

Phryne turned again on her heels, an act that would probably leave holes in his floorboards. He chose not to point that out right now.

“But why would he not know, who had attended? If it is Morell, surely he would know, who had sat on the table with him that night.”

Another turn. Jack leaned back in his chair.

“Maybe he did not remember all of the guests?” He tried. But Morell was a politician. It was unlikely he would easily forget names. It was part of his occupation to remember faces, names, background details. He had recalled who he was, after meeting him briefly and unimportantly at the Windsor hotel. So that was unlikely.

“Unlikely.” Phryne said firmly.

“Maybe it wasn't Morell?” Jack Robinson stated, while she kept pacing. He hated to admit it, but he was rather fond of the idea, that John Morell was their killer. The dislike he felt for him, just grew steadily stronger. Yet, he was a police officer. He could not arrest people on gut feelings and unfounded aversion.

“The list might have been stolen, so the police can not follow this trail.” Miss Fisher pointed out without stopping. “So you shouldn't let Morell off the hook just yet.”

Jack looked at his watch. It was almost ten o'clock. Maybe if he left right now, he could still find him at the gentlemen's club with his friends and ask him, what cigar's he smoked. But that plan died seconds later, when Constable Jones came through the door.

“We finally got an answer from the landlord, Sir. He was supposedly out of town on business.”

“So do you know, who our victim was, Constable?”

The man lifted his notebook to his eyes and read.

“A Miss Christine Taylor, Sir. But he did not know any further details.”

To the astonishment of both people in his office, Detective-Inspector Robinson had started shuffling through his paperwork in excited activity. Finally, he seemed to have found the right sheet.

“It's her!”

“Who is it, Sir?” The confused Constable asked. Miss Fisher had stepped behind the Inspector and was reading the crime-scene protocol on Mrs. Morgan's murder.

“The third maid. She's supposed to be out of town, but instead she is dead.” Jack stated breathlessly. “And Miss Awnings just bought herself a new dress.”

He jumped up so fast, his chair trembled dangerously and had to be caught by Phryne. Miss Fisher had known her Inspector long enough to not ask questions, while she ran after him to the car.

He had almost reached it, when he stopped with a hiss of pain, clutching onto his leg. Phryne reached out and steadied him, suddenly worried.

“Jack?”

He turned, with a smile that was not quite sincere.

“It's fine. Would you like to drive?”

She nodded, a cheeky remark on her lips, but deep down she felt guilty. Miss Fisher had almost forgotten about the deep cut in his thigh. He was so strong, so certain in everything he did, that it was easy to dismiss his frailties. It was her task to remember, when nobody else did. Jack Robinson would push himself to the brink of exhaustion; she knew him that well by now. And it had been a long time since anyone had taken the trouble of worrying for him. Yet, she had neglected her duties. Yes, she had watched out for him in many ways, but she had missed something important. He had always tried to respect her freedom, but she had failed to respect his needs. Miss Fisher remembered, that he had once even offered to accept her affairs, a sacrifice, she could not, would not accept from him, if only because she knew it would break him and herself equally, poison their bond. But she hadn't thought further, hadn't considered, what it meant for a man proud and a little bit old-fashioned, to be her undefined houseguest. She glanced briefly at his face that was pale with some beads of sweat across the forehead. He looked worn and from the way his brows were knitted, he was also in pain. She wondered, how much of it was from his leg and how much caused by Iris' words still ringing in his ears? How many of her own words were still echoing through his brain? It hadn't even occurred to her in her haze of agony up there on the rooftop this afternoon, what she'd take from him by sending him away. Not just his love, but his home and the people who were growing into his family. She wondered briefly if that had played any role in his refusal, but it couldn't have. Jack Robinson would rather sleep under a bridge, curled up beside Shoeless Jim, than in a house he wasn't welcome in. Her chest ached at the thought that she had asked him to leave, without knowing where he would go. Jack's own little house was let, to her gardener and his mother, at a tiny rent, that hardly covered his own payments to her. He still paid rent and what once had been to save his pride, make it possible for him to move into her house without a feeling of being lost to her mercy, now seemed ridiculous to Miss Fisher. She had invited him into her house, her heart, her family, a shared life and yet she refused to give him a place in it. It was unfair!

A cart, appearing out of nowhere demanded her attention in a hurry and the Hispano came to a sliding stop with screeching tyres. Phryne's heart raced in her chest and she wasn't sure, if it was just the shock from her almost accident, or the realisation that she had just had.

Jack Robinson's look was searching, penetrating. Could he tell?

“You know, I would prefer us to get there alive, Miss Fisher.” He teased and grasped her hand briefly. He was comforting her, and she wanted to cry. But now was not the time.

“That sounds certainly like a good plan.” She answered, smiling, while starting the car again.

“I think so.” He answered, his humour not hiding the way his jaw was still clenched. The Honourable Phryne Fisher made a note to herself, to ensure he got some sleep tonight, no matter how much he refused to. And to have a look at his wound; it would not do to miss another infection. In that resolve she took the last corner. The mansion of the McHolmes, the family who Caroline Awning had found employment with, lay in almost complete stillness. Only a small lamp on the ground level promised that someone was actually at home. On their urgent knocking, an elderly woman in her dressing gown opened the door. 

“Afraid, th' Master and Mistress ain't in tonight.” She slurred in a sleepy voice.

“Actually, we are here to see Caroline Awning.” Jack prompted, flashing his badge. Her eyes went wide. 

“What would the coppers want from her then?” The woman asked, suddenly awake.

“I think, we better discuss that with her personally.” Detective-Inspector Robinson stated with a mild smile, stepping into the house. Nodding, the woman went away, a small oil lamp in hand, that seemed to have survived the victory-march of electricity. Time went by, they heard faint yelling in the back, but finally she returned to the door.

“I apologize, Sir. But she is locked in and will not open.”

“Did she answer?” Phryne Fisher asked, startling the woman, who had not taken any notice of her as of yet.

“I believe I heard some noise.” She admitted after a thoughtful pause. “But words would be saying too much.”

“Is there a general key?” The policeman enquired urgently and the old lady shrugged. “I think there is, somewhere in the office. But I'd have to search.”

“Nevermind, just show us to her quarters.” The lady cut in, making her wonder, yet again, what she was doing here. She didn't look like she was police and certainly she should not stand here in the middle of the night and make demands. Things should have their orders, the old housekeeper thought. But the look on both their faces didn't let her dare rebel against their wishes. A lifetime of obeying caught up to her and she found herself hurrying down a dark hall to the back of the house, where the servants slept. Inspector Robinson didn't bother with a polite knock, he almost beat down the door, calling out for Miss Awning. A faint groan was the only answer.

“Step back.” He ordered, ready to kick in the wood, but Phryne grasped his arm, pulling him backwards and shaking her head urgently.

“Not with your leg.” She said, fishing for a hair-pin. He nodded, retreating and watching obediently, as Miss Fisher got busy at the lock, ordering the housekeeper to bring her little lamp closer. It took only seconds, but it seemed an eternity, before they were able to storm into the room. The maid was curled up on the floor, her hands pressed to her stomach, sweat glistening on her forehead.

“Call an ambulance.” Jack yelled at the housekeeper, who stared in astonishment. “NOW.”

Phryne had already flown through the door and knelt down before the girl, careful to avoid the small puddles of vomit splashed over the floor like smelly flowers. She stroked the matted blonde curls gently.

“You are going to be alright. Help is on the way.”

A gurgling was the only answer she got. Jack noticed the broken glass right beside the bed, having spilled milk all over the floorboards, when he crouched down on the other side.

“Miss Awning, who gave you the money?”

The girl tried to turn, fighting against a gagging reflex, threatening to bring more of her stomach content up. From the look of it, there could not be much left. With weak blue eyes she looked at the Inspector.

“I know you're in pain, but people will die, if you don't tell us!” He urged. “We might not be fast enough next time.” In fact, he was not sure, if they had been this time and he was going to run outside in a moment and see if the housekeeper had followed his orders as well as call in his colleagues. In comforting, Miss Fisher was much better than him and there was nothing to be done but that right now. The girl groaned, as another stomach spasm shot through her. Then she gurgled out a name.

“Please say that again.” Phryne urged. It was weak this time, but clear.

“Morell.” The girl whispered. “The money is from the damn politician.” Then she threw up onto Phryne's skirt.

 

X

 

Half an hour later, Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson marched into the 'Poseidon Club' framed by two uniformed officers and directly to the table on which Howards, Winterbottom and Morell were currently sharing their last drink, before heading home. All three were smoking cigars tonight, smelling exactly like the one in an envelope on Robinson's desk. But he didn't rely on this anymore. He had a witness. One that by now was on the way to the hospital and would hopefully survive this night. The politician smiled a confused smile as the policemen arrived. It froze, as the Inspector towered over him, talking in a loud voice that was to hear for anyone remaining in the club at this time of night.

“John Morell, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. If you would please stand up and accompany me to the station.”

The man paled.

“You must be joking.”

He sounded slightly hysterical.

“I do not tend to joke about this kind of matter, Mr. Morell. Foster, handcuffs, please.”

While the Constable, with shaky fingers dragged the famous politician to a standing position and clapped him in iron, Jack stared down his two friends, his glare making very clear, that their intrusion in this conversation would be very silly indeed. But his eyes got sidetracked by the blonde waitress he had noticed the other night, standing in the back, staring at him. She really was exceptionally pretty, blonde, tall, with bright eyes that were currently widening in shock. She was also familiar. A memory flashed in front of the Inspector.

“Bring him to the car, Constable. I will be out in a minute.” Jack ordered, without tearing his eyes from Susan Bryant. She had noticed his attention and he had not managed to walk more than three metres towards her, before she turned, all but throwing the tablet she was holding onto the bar, smashing a glass and causing beer to spill down the swearing barkeepers front and started to run. Jack galloped after her, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his leg, the lead in his limbs after the bloody long day he had encountered. But it didn't help, she was already halfway down the back stairs, when he reached the top and flying after her, nearly stumbling over his own feet, he lost her blonde head out of sight completely for a minute.

“Susan!” He yelled into the darkness of the basement. He could hear her breathing, somewhere, as he snuck through the dark corridor that must lead to kitchen and cellars. “Miss Bryant. Please come out. I know where your sister is.” He yelled. “She's quite safe.”

“Liar!” He heard the faintest whisper behind him. Then something hard hit the back of his head and there was only darkness.

 


	20. Blackberries

It took a few moments, before the stars in front of the Inspector's eyes would leave and he managed to peel himself from the floor. He fumbled for the back of his head, but the wine bottle hadn't drawn any blood, even though it had left a shower of sticky liquid and shards of glass spilled down the back of his suit.

“You better have used white wine.” He breathed. “I like this one.”

There was no answer, only retreating steps clattering over the stone floor and Jack again tried to run, or rather hobble in the direction. His lungs stung, red stars danced infront of his eyes and he pondered briefly, if he was too old for this by now. Maybe he should have listened to Rosie back in the day and gotten himself a comfortable office job to withdraw to and get fat. But then, that wouldn't go down well with Miss Fisher. God, he really wished, Phryne would be here right now. She had rather eagerly allowed him to send her home, to changed and wash herself, as soon as Miss Awning had been shipped off to the hospital. Vomit on herself, was were the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher drew the line of seeking adventure it seemed. He smiled in the darkness at this, when he heard a movement beside him. Hair brushed past his cheek, as Susan ran, he fished for her in the dark, but again, she escaped, then a door briefly showed the starry sky outside. Panting the Inspector followed behind, ripped the door open and stepped into the cooling evening air. But there was no sign anymore of Emily's sister.

 

X

 

It was far after midnight, when Jack Robinson arrived home, and it was slightly surprising, that the house was still lit up like a Christmas tree. Mrs. Collins opened the door to him. The expression on her face made quite clear how he looked.

“You alright Dottie, who is it?” Her husband's voice came from the parlour. Seconds later, Hugh joined them at the door, as his wife seemed currently unable to speak. 

“Sir! You look...”

Jack rose his hand and silenced his constable.

“ _Don't_ say it.”

Jack Robinson had been stabbed and beaten over the head in the last 24 hours, kneeled in vomit and a puddle of wine as well as beside two corpses, been yelled at by his cousin, Doctor Mac and an erratic politician, who threatened to destroy his career and made him currently quite glad that Sanderson was out of earshot – if barely, judging by the volume of it. He also had hopefully saved a life and comforted more women than he could remember at this stage. His head hurt, his leg throbbed and he felt he might pass out if he would not sit down soon. Which wasn't really an option before he had washed himself and gotten rid of the glass still littered through his hair.

“Jack!”

Miss Fisher had appeared in the door of her parlour, wrapped in a dress that was probably quite stunning, even though he could currently not appreciate it, a Martini glass in hand. There was laughter behind her in the room, as well as an abundance of voices, and Jack wondered for a moment, if his sudden appearance spoiled the party, they were obviously having.

“Please excuse me.” She said, and he was about to wave her off to attend to her guests in peace, while he headed upstairs and got himself fixed up and ready for bed, when he realised, that she hadn't been speaking with him at all. Instead she came to the door, pulled him away from the Collins' who still stared at him in astonishment and took him past the parlour, where he could spot Mr. Butler sitting rather uncomfortably on the love seat besides Mrs. Santi, just being mercilessly teased by Mac, who seemed in turn to have taken the interest of Rosie Fletcher. Cec was animatedly chatting at Emily, whose eyes were glittering in amusement. Jack wondered for a moment, if he had stumbled into an awkward dream. But there was a hand firmly in his, tethering him to sanity or at least to a form of comfortable insanity.

“Did you arrest him?” Phryne asked, while she ran a bath and he peeled himself out of his clothes, careful not to spill glass all over her floor.

“Yes, I did. He is not happy with the police force right now. I think, the Deputy Commissioner is going to be at my doorstep first thing tomorrow morning.” The Inspector sighed, kicking off his shoes.

“You bled through your dressing.” Miss Fisher stated, when he peeled off his pants. She was right, an angry red stain was showing on the bandage wrapped around his thigh. Jack shrugged.

“Running down the corridor didn't help.”

She raised her eyebrows at this under her fringe, but didn't say a word, taking his clothes from him. In fact, she waited, till he had slipped into the ready bathtub, hissing at the hot soapy water burning in his cut, before she stated casually.

“I hope there was an incredibly good reason for doing something so silly.”

He nodded his head, trying to find a comfortable position, while she pulled up a chair behind him and shook the last splinters of glass out of his hair.

“I found Susan.”

He felt her hand still in excited silence.

“She escaped. After beating me over the head with a bottle of wine.”

She sniffed.

“Chardonnay, I'd say. Not a bad drop. Quite considerate of your clothes at least.”

He answered with a wry smile, fishing for the bar of soap.

“Not overly considerate of my head though.” He said with a slight frown and winced, as her hands brushed over the bump.

“Well the headache might be worse if she had used a cheap bottle.” Phryne concluded ironically.

“But she must have been quite scared to defend herself this harshly.”

Jack gently peeled her hands of his head and dove under the water, coming back up a second later, spluttering and wiping water out of his eyes.

“I would hope so. It seems a rather strange mating ritual.”

“She probably thought you are the killer.”

Jack rubbed the aching back of his head.

“I doubt that. I had just rather clearly stated, that I was arresting Morell. Maybe she had just realised that she served Whiskey to a serial killer every night. That would make for a bit of a shock.”

He stopped to close his eyes, as he realised, that Phryne's soft fingers had started to spread Shampoo through his hair, rubbing his throbbing scalp in light circular motions.

“Has he confessed then?” She asked quietly into his darkness. The Inspector hummed at this, without answering. He was busy falling into her soothing touch.

After a minute or two, he remembered that it was rather rude to stop mid-conversation. He slowly opened his eyes, leaning his head far enough back to be able to look at her. A warm smile greeted him.

“I thought for a moment, you'd fallen asleep on me.” Miss Fisher said, leaning over him, to press a kiss to his lips. The Inspector only shook his head in the slightest of fashions, closing his lashes again, as her face came closer.

“You look tired though.” She stated, when she pulled back.

“I am.” He admitted.

“We better get you into bed then.” She winked. Jack did not protest, as his lover helped him get ready. There was strange, breathtaking intimacy to her drying his hair and bandaging his battle wound. “He is going to be a hard nut to crack.” He admitted, in the middle of brushing his teeth. “Morell's denying everything.”

“Well, if he couldn't lie well would be at a disatvantage in his chosen career.” Phryne stated, from where she was just taking her earrings off.

“Have you heard anything of Miss Awning?” Jack asked, while slipping under the sheets and turning to face Miss Fisher where she still sat at the edge of the bed.

“Yes, she will pull through. That's actually how Mac ended up here.”

She crawled beside him and grabbed his hand. He started.

“Don't you have to head back downstairs? You have guests.”

But the Honourable Miss Fisher only smiled.

“They're family, Jack, and they were not exactly invited. They can take care of themselves.”

He didn't argue with that, and instead just looked at her. There was a softness to her eyes right now that caused the day to slowly melt away from his aching body. He reached out a hand and ran it down her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut, as she gave herself into his embrace. She realised, that now was probably the time to tell him how she felt. He had shown courage today, opening his heart to her when he knew she could destroy him in the blink of an eye. And yet, the words would not come over her lips. So instead she leaned forward and brushed a kiss to his mouth, then one to his left eye, his forehead. Slowly, gently she covered his face with tender butterfly kisses. Jack lay still, not moving, taking calm, deep breaths into his lungs, and she wondered if he had fallen asleep under her caress, but she knew that he hadn't. He was drifting in a world somewhere between waking and dreaming, where he was at peace, at a place where the horrors of his day didn't have any power. Sometimes she could join him there and so she left her eyes shut, while she moved closer to him, felt his breath ghosting over her face while her fingertips felt over the hills and craters of muscle and scars in his back. She knew them by heart now, but still she could not stop exploring them. He moaned somewhere at the back of his throat, when her wandering hands reached his hipbone. She could feel parts of his body stirring, wondering if he would ever be truly sated. Miss Fisher really hoped the answer for this to be “no”. Gently she guided him onto his back without opening either of their eyes, reached in the dark for him, slipping down his body that smelled faintly of soap and very much of Jack right now. He whimpered, when she kissed the naked sole of his foot. Brushing kiss for kiss onto every centimeter of his exposed skin, the tender spots at his ankles and knees, she worked her way upwards, even very carefully rubbing her lips over the bandaged cut on his thigh before leaving it alone. It was not yet used to attention, she would take care of it once it was healed. For now, the rest of him was more important. Despite the growing arousal Jack's body betrayed, he was quite passive. Phryne didn't mind, she felt he had done quite enough in the last few days and was allowed to just lie back tonight. Nevertheless, she enjoyed his warm hands reaching up and running along her sides when she slipped on top of him, searching her out, as if in the darkness behind his lashes he had to make sure, she was really there.

“Phryne.” He whispered. Her name turned into a moan, as she chose that very moment to move her hips and take his breath away. The sound made her stomach dissolve to hot lava, yet, she took it slow, gentle. It was their time, his time, she was not going to rush this. With tenderness she peeled his hand of her hip and kissed his fingertips. Jack groaned in response, whispering her name again. He was teasing her. But no, she would not have it. Tonight was the time for making love and while her lips might not be ready to speak the words, when she weaved her finger though his, moving on top of him in intimate, indulgent slowness, she had every intention on letting her body do the talking for her.

 

X

 

With a groan the old wooden door gave in. Susan pushed through the staff entrance in the house, listening carefully. She knew that the housekeeper was with her sister right now, even though the two women despised each other, but there was no harm in being careful. She did not feel like explaining herself to an erratic servant. There were plenty of soft beds upstairs, but instead she turned her step down into the basement of the mansion. At least nobody could see it if she decided to switch on some lights down there. And the night could get dark. Fumbling through the shadows, she followed the stairs down to another door. Her eyes made out the outlines of a smallish bed and a chair, even a table under the window. Probably an unused servant's bedroom. That would do. 

Heavily she sat down at the edge of the bed, rubbing her face. She hoped, she hadn't seriously hurt the policeman, but then, he had been already on his feet again before she'd escaped. Susan sighed, lying back in the dark. Maybe she should've talked to him, after the bastard had gotten her granny! End it all. An angry, desperate tear sank into the pillow. Tonight she was truly alone in the world.

 

X

 

The morning came and with it, the world returned. Jack opened his eyes with a sense of dread. John Morell was waiting in his cells for him and while he fully intended to give him a run for his money, this would not be a pleasant encounter. He also had a suspicion that high ranking politicians and police officers would insist on playing their own cards in the game. Jack felt old this morning and tired, but he pulled himself onto the edge of the bed nevertheless.

“Are you alright?” Mumbled a voice behind him, warm fingers touching the small of his back.

“I feel the overwhelming urge to crawl back into bed and sleep through this day.” Jack Robinson admitted, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Would you like me to come?” Phryne asked, yawning. The thought was tempting to the DI, despite the week having worn on Miss Fisher too. But he would have to get through this on his own.

“I think it might be better if whoever shows in my office unannounced today, does not find a lady-detective draped over my desk.”

“A fair point.” Phryne yawned again, snuggling back under the covers while not even pretending to be upset over his refusal to take her along.

“Are you actually encouraging me to stick to the rules, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked with a grin.

“No, I am encouraging you to do all the boring work, while I stay in bed.” She grinned. “But there might be the side-effect of not spoiling your efforts by compromising your credibility, while you are trying to bring a very influential man to justice.”

“Oh, don't worry about my credibility, that is more than confusing.”

With a smirk, Jack leaned in to kiss her and almost lost his resolve of getting up after all. But Miss Fisher had different plans and actually forcefully removed him from herself to gently push him out of bed.

“Go take down your serial-killer, Jack. I will wait here to celebrate with you tonight.”

Grumbling the Detective-Inspector obeyed.

 

X

 

The City South Police Station was suspiciously quiet, when Jack Robinson stepped through the door.

“There are people waiting in your office, Sir.” Hugh informed him in a hushed voice. Jack nodded. So the dance began. His head held high, he swept through the door. The first person he saw was Deputy Commissioner Fredrik, the second Minister Roberts and the third he already knew from last night to be Dr. Vogel, of the Vogel & Goldenblatt's, the hardest lawyer in town. Jack made the first tentative step, a little pirouette, Fredrik threw some tango in, Roberts mixed up his steps and stomped onto plenty of toes and Vogel tried to turn off the music altogether. Detective-Inspector Robinson spoke, yelled, argued, explained and yet knew, it was in vain. Nobody was above the law, unless he was important enough. The dance lasted all of half an hour, then John Morell, the alleged serial-killer walked free into the burning Australian sun. 

Jack sank behind his desk, looking after the retreating men with a silent stare and wondered if there was any point to his occupation if enough money and influence could buy your freedom even from the law. Right now, he hated his job with a passion. In the door, Fredrik turned.

“If you made it waterproof, my son, things would be different. But there is just not enough evidence to support your case.”

Jack wanted to tell him, that he was surely not his son, but instead he grinned broadly.

“I will make sure, I'll stand ready with a camera at the next murder scene, Sir.”

The Deputy Commissioner looked confused for a moment, but seemed to come to the conclusion, that it was easiest to ignore the possibility of irony.

“That's the spirit, my son.”

And out of the door he was. Detective-Inspector Robinson sat for a long time in silence, resisting the urge to beat his head against the top of his desk and scream. He still sat, when the phone rang.

 


	21. Pear

Phryne was woken rudely from restless dreams by Mr. Butler beating down her door.

“Miss. The Inspector is on the phone. It's urgent I believe.”

With a start she sat up in bed.

“I'm coming.”

Her thoughts racing, she slipped into her morning gown and all but ran downstairs. Jack calling her, especially 'urgently' did not bode well. It could really only mean that Morell had walked and he was now scared for the lives of the people in her house. But surely, the man wouldn't dare to come here in the middle of the day?

“Jack?”

“Phryne.” He panted. He sounded indeed disturbed, confused even. Miss Fisher did her hardest to listen to his rambling. When she hung up, she was still in a hundred minds about what she had just heard. Nevertheless, she stormed upstairs, fumbling into the first choice of clothes she could find and was out the door within minutes. The Hispano did its owner proud, taking her with high speed through the busy streets of Melbourne's morning. She heard the sirens when she got closer to the city, held her breath when she turned the last corner, seeing the Windsor's long lines of window glitter in the morning light. People crowded the streets, obviously the news had gone around. Parking on a footpath, Phryne left her car behind and tried to fight her way through the piles of onlookers. Near the ramp leading up to the stairs, there was no further getting through, as uniformed officers were holding back the curious masses. But behind the black shoulders, Phryne could spot the sheet covering the formless pile on the floor. Beside it, kneeling, was Jack, her Jack, chalk-white.

“You can't come through here Ma'am.” The poor Constable, who was currently standing in her way, protested. In short resolve, she thrust her card at him like a badge.

“Phryne Fisher, and you will let me past, right now!”

He read the card, confused by her pure authority for long enough, so she could slip through beneath his arm.

Jack didn't look up, when she crouched down beside him. He was staring at the sheet as if trance.

“It's him, alright.” He said, the only sign that he had noticed her arrival. “It's Morell. Shot in the middle of the day, in a busy street.”

“Did he leave a Number?” Phryne asked quietly. She could not imagine that he would have had time to do that, before people closed in. Jack shook his head.

“No, no number. Too daring. But Morell had _this_ stashed in his pocket.”

Miss Fisher gently took the piece of paper. Their fingers brushed together and the pure coldness of his skin almost burned on her's. She forced herself to not look at him. Not pay any attention to the grey tinge of his skin and his dark eyes that seemed to be lying deep in their caves. Jack was having a hell of a week and only last night, he had seemed so close. Now, his serial killer was stepping up his game. And it was obviously not Morell, who was cooling at their feet right now. Carefully she unfolded the note in her hands. Under the usual three words, the still wrong third monkey, was written: “Right tree, wrong apple, Inspector!”

The Honourable Phryne Fisher shuddered in the warmth of the late morning. The killer was watching Jack's moves. And he wasn't happy with them. This was not just a kill, it was a message. Inspector Robinson had gotten the wrong man and Morell had died for it. Right infront of the Parliament, in broad daylight. No wonder Jack looked like walking death. In fact, right now she herself wanted nothing but to pack up her family and leave. Run, as far as they could. Jack had the killer's attention and next time he might not be satisfied with just stabbing him in the leg.

The arrival of a tall man with a round face ripped her from her dark visions. Deputy-Commissioner Fredrik glanced briefly at the woman holding evidence in her fingers while crouching over the corpse, then decided, that she could not be there. He had a talent for ignoring things that he'd rather not deal with. DI Robinson had seen him and pulled himself to his full height. The despair that had ruled his features just a minute ago, vanished and made room for self-righteous anger. It was really quite impressive, Phryne found.

“Well, Deputy-Commissioner, I believe you were right. Mr. Morell was not the killer.” He stated sarcastically. “Even though I'm quite sure, he currently would prefer to be still sitting in my cells.”

The higher ranking officer didn't answer, instead staring at the body at his feet.

“My God, so Morell really was shot right here. I couldn't believe it. But how could this have happened?”

Phryne resisted the urge to roll her eyes and stayed quiet, taking the chance to lift the sheet and have a closer look, while listening with half an ear to Jack Robinson explaining the events to his superior.

Morell had, after his release, decided to head to the Windsor to freshen up, then to return to Parliament as if nothing had happened. Show himself, as he had explained to his man. Defeat the rumours before they spread. Passers-by had seen him argue with a tall, dark-haired man, right here on the ramp to the building, then a gun had gone off and before anyone could react the man had been gone and the politician bleeding out onto the pavement. He had been dead by the time anyone had reached him, shot into the chest from close proximity. He looked quite ugly in death, Phryne realised. His handsome features were distorted; but mostly, the aura that had made him charming, was gone and the man himself really wasn't all that fascinating. In fact, he had something dark about him now, grim. Miss Fisher remembered last night, Caroline Awning. Morell had paid her money! But for what, if he was not Emily's tormentor? Or had they gotten it wrong? Was the killing not connected to what had happened to Louisa Bryant? That was too much coincidence to prove true. So, was he covering up for someone else? Protecting someone? Possibly to save his own reputation, his career? It sounded like something Morell was capable of. And the killer had obviously not appreciated the efforts on his account. Phryne felt disgust rise like bile in her throat. She dropped the sheet and pulled herself to her feet. Swept her eyes over the area. They landed on the stone balustrade framing the ramp. On a hunch she walked over. A perfect place to hide and wait. Something glittered in the grass.

“Inspector!” She yelled. Hugh Collins, who had been fending off a near hysterical woman with a presumably rather heavy crush on the handsome politician, came rushing first. The Detective-Inspector was kept for a moment longer by the Deputy-Commissioner. Obviously Fredrik found it beyond even his power to ignore a woman yelling at the top of her lungs.

“Who is that?” He asked with a grimace to his face that promised problems.

“That is the Honourable Miss Fisher. She will help me make my case watertight this time, Sir.” Jack said stiffly and walked off with an faint excuse to his lips, before the man could respond. The Deputy-Commissioner stood for a moment longer, his mouth agape, then pulled a red and white chequered handkerchief from his pocket and dried his sweaty forehead, before stalking of in the direction of his car. He had many calls to make and most of them would be unpleasant.

Jack did not care about his sad fate in the slightest at this point, as he, careful not to smudge any prints, fished the weapon from the grass.

“A Webley. Probably a service revolver.” He stated. Phryne sniffed.

“Definately has been fired.”

“Collins, get this checked for prints, will you?” The Inspector demanded and handed the weapon over carefully to the obedient officer.

Then he crouched down in the grass, stared at the place where it had been trampled down, as if someone had sat here for a long time.

“The killer was waiting on him. But why wait in hiding and then start an open argument with Morell for a street full of witnesses to see?”

Miss Fisher looked around. There was plenty of room to escape. Nobody really knew in what direction the man had run. He had vanished like a ghost. Always like a ghost.

“I feel like he's toying with me, Phryne. He's trying to tell me something, I just can't work it out.”

The lady-detective chewed on her lower lip in thought, then a smile lit up her face.

“Maybe we should ask someone who is a whole lot clearer.”

 

X

 

The blonde girl was shaking in a mixture of anger and fear, when she slammed the door shut behind herself. How could he dare?! She grabbed a teapot that was innocently sitting on the otherwise empty kitchen bench and hurled it against the nearest wall. With a satisfactory noise the porcelain burst into a thousand pieces. Susan sat down, still panting and slowly felt the anger melt away. It didn't really matter, did it? Morell was dead, she could not say that she was sorry about that in the slightest. Even though it had shocked her somewhat, when in the middle of that argument the guy had taken the weapon and shot. Why on earth would he shoot him? Of course, he would be shaking in his little booties by now that all his dark secrets would be discovered, but shooting Morell, while the Inspector was still believing him to be the killer was rather silly, wasn't it? If Robinson didn't figure it out soon, she would have to actually talk. She didn't want to talk!

Louisa would have made her a cup of tea right now, telling her, that everything would be better after a cuppa and a moment of peace. Of course, she couldn't now. Tears stung at the back of her eyes, as Susan pulled herself to her feet. She would make herself a cup of tea, she decided. If she could find another teapot.

 

X

 

The Constable watching over the hospital door saluted when Jack Robinson approached, even nodding in a friendly way to Miss Fisher. That was an unusual occurrence, making her wonder briefly how his co-workers felt about her involvement in their investigations. This string of thoughts snapped as soon as the door was opened by the Inspector's hands and gave the view free to the pale, blonde girl lying in bed. Caroline Awning did not look well, which was probably to be expected of someone who just barely escaped dying of arsenic poisoning.

“Miss Awning. Glad to see you alive.” The Inspector smiled. “Do you remember me?”

The girl nodded.

“Hard to forget a copper.”

Jack suddenly recalled, why he hadn't taken a particular liking to the woman.

“But thank you for saving my life, I guess.” She said for good measure, reconciling him somewhat.

“My pleasure, Miss Awning. Now, I have some questions-”

“Who's she, then?”

Caroline pointed at Phryne, who stood somewhat in the background.

“'She' is the woman you threw up on last night.” Miss Fisher stated calmly, sensing her patience was quickly wearing thin. She felt herself wonder, why of all the victims, this one had to be the one they had saved. To her surprise the pale creature in bed actually started to giggle, as if they had just shared a great joke.

“Ah yes, I remember that. Sorry bout the skirt. Now, what did you wanna ask me, Inspector?”

Jack cleared his throat, sharing a quick look with Phryne. She did look very polite, with thunderclouds brewing over her head. He smirked and returned his attention to the girl.

“Miss Awnings, we asked you last night, where you got the money from, do you recall this?”

“Yeah, and I told you already, it was Morell.”

“Mr. Morell has been shot this morning!”

Caroline had the decency to look shocked for a moment. Then she nodded.

“Well, I guess, the guy would have it in for him, wouldn't he? Him being able to blab and all?”

Jack started.

“So you didn't believe, that Morell was the serial killer?”

To his utter astonishment, the woman broke into giggles again.

“Morell? That tightarsed bastard? Nah! He's tried to cover it up, that's all.”

Miss Fisher pulled herself a chair up to the bed.

“Caroline, may I call you that? Good. Why don't you tell us from the start, how this happened.”

The girl looked at the smile on Miss Fisher's face, that wasn't sincere, but held the certain promise, that there was trouble if she was not cooperative. The Inspector had leaned back on the other side of her bed and looked at her in cool patience. She was trapped.

“Can I keep the money, if I talk?” She asked, determined, to get something out of this.

“We can have a chat about that, once you are done.” Detective-Inspector Robinson stated. The girl drew a deep breath.

“Alright. So, I don't know, what you found out so far, but the Mortons used to have their little 'parties'. Quite often. Invited all the rich and famous of the city occasionally, even though they were all hiding behind their masks, but of course, we recognised them anyways. But mostly it was the usual troops. Half of them from Morton's club I suppose, the other half acquaintances from all over the place. The painter was quite often there and his girlfriend, Morell of course, Howards, Fletcher, the doctor and his wife sometimes, but not that night, if I recall. They had invited that young actor, I don't remember his name, but I think he's quite a star now. Blonde hair.”

“Charles Bungard?” Phryne asked, her blue eyes glittering.

“That's the one. Was his first time. Quite obviously. I think they asked him to bring some tender meat along, cause he had two girls in tow when he came. Had to loan masks, the more experienced brought their own along. I don't think either of the three knew what they got themselves into.”

“What sort of party are we talking?” DI Robinson asked. Caroline smiled an enigmatic smile.

“Not the sort you are used to going to, Inspector. A bit more 'scandalous'. A good dinner of course, plenty of alcohol, some opium, cocaine and later in the night, relations of a certain kind, if you understand my drift. Kiki and I sometimes joined in if they didn't have enough tender meat around. Not that night though, we were just serving.”

“What about Miss Strangewater?” Jack asked, suddenly nervous. He had completely forgotten about the third maid being in possible danger. But to his relief, Miss Awning laughed.

“Annie? Nah, she's too prudish for that. They usually sent her away those nights to take care of her poor old granny. I don't know if she even suspected something, though you can't be that blind, can you?”

Jack and Phryne shared a look over her bed.

“So, there was a 'party'? I suspect on the 24th of November?” Phryne urged.

“Might have been. I can't recall the date. But something went wrong that night. One of the girls screamed so loud that I thought the ceiling would come down. We rushed into the room, he was having his way with her on the floor, she obviously didn't like it. Think he had been a bit too hard on the drugs that night. He tried to shut her up. Beat her head against the floor.”

Phryne turned away in disgust.

“And nobody stopped him?”

“All happened really fast. She stopped screaming. Stopped moving altogether. Everybody was in a bloody panic. The other girl broke down in hysterics, called him a murderer, she was dragged off by Bungard and the Morton's. I think Fletcher and Morell made a trip with the car later, gotten rid of the body. I have no idea, what they done with it, but I never heard anything bout it again. Next thing I know, the Morton's want to get rid of me. Tell me and Kiki to find ourselves a new household. I didn't want to, told him I'd blab, if they insisted. Two days later, Morell shows up, hands me a huge cheque and asks me to keep my trap shut and vanish. So that's what I did.”

“And it didn't occur to you, to go to the police, after you witnessed a woman being raped and murdered?” Jack Robinson asked in a strained voice that told Phryne, he was barely holding on to sanity at this stage.

“Who would that have helped, then? The girl was dead. And the Morton's weren't bad people after all. Though I do think, they never gotten really over it.”

“And now, when the murders happened, you didn't think, that it might be a good idea to talk now? Maybe save some people, including yourself?”

“I was kind of hoping that he would not kill me, if I keep my trap shut. Didn't seem that unreasonable to me. When he wasn't high.”

“Who, Caroline?!” Phryne asked, impatiently.

A pair of blue eyes turned to her.

“Howards of course. Didn't I say?”

Jack and Phryne stared at each other, then jumped up in unison.

“No, no, you didn't.” The Inspector stated, before he flew after Miss Fisher.


	22. Coconuts

A rather shaken looking maid opened the door to the big and incredibly ugly mansion that was inhabited by Bertram Howards and his wife Sylvia.

Jack flashed his badge and was lead without hesitation to the sitting room. Howards sat with his back to them, holding a glass of Whiskey in shaky fingers. He looked up, when the Inspector stood beside him. Jack noticed that there was still blood splattered over the front of the man. He hadn't even bothered to change his shirt.

“Ah, Inspector Robinson. I assume you would like to talk to me about John Morell?”

“To be honest, Mr. Howards, I don't want to talk to you at all.” Jack answered truthfully. “But my occupation forces me to. If you'd like to accompany us to the station, we can get this over with.”

A grim smile was the only answer for a long moment, while Howards drained his drink.

“But I like it here, you see?” He gestured with his glass to the French door, leading into the garden. Phryne watched the scene unfold from the back wall. Hate was bubbling in her guts, hot, glowing hate for the man, who did not seem to care about anything or anyone. He had let his friends take care of the fallout of his rape and attempted murder of an innocent girl and then he had disposed of them too, as they threatened to give him away. She recognised from the way he talked that some drug or other had sucked all warmth out of him. He was cold, cold to the bone.

“Would you like a drink, Inspector?” Howards asked, in his icy, sharp voice that reminded the Inspector of his cheekbones. Impressive, but soulless.

“I would prefer a confession.” Jack stated, still standing. “You shot your friend Morell. Why?”

At this Mr. Howards seemed to actually wake up from whatever dream he had been floating in.

“Can you prove that, Inspector?”

“I actually believe I can. I have about 20 witnesses, who saw him arguing with a tall, dark haired man and I am quite certain that the one or the other lady will remember your face or that beautiful suit your wearing.”

The man pondered this for a while.

“It was a rather nasty accident, really.” He finally chose to say. “I wasn't even carrying today. Morell was though. He was scared of the murders.” The man laughed a throaty laugh, that sounded hollow in Phryne's ears and made cold shivers run down her spine. “He had gotten it in his mind, that I was the killer and that he would be next. He threatened me with it.”

“So you chose to prove him wrong by shooting him?” Jack Robinson asked coldly.

“It was an accident.” The man locked eyes with the Detective-Inspector and he recognised the glassy look. Whatever the man was on, he probably saw pink elephants in his bedroom too.

“An accident like you raping and beating Louisa Bryant?!” He heard a freezing cold voice from the door. Miss Fisher had finally had enough. The glassy eyes focused with some difficulty on the approaching woman.

“Ahh, the little Missus. I should have known she was your spearhead, when she popped up in the club. Though I do wonder, how you found out about the girl, Inspector. Enlighten me.”

Jack smiled a grim smile.

“Oh, that is easy. Bungard actually discovered that night that he had a heart in his chest and went looking for her. And he found her. You will be glad to hear that Louisa Bryant has survived your attack and is very well indeed. And she will be more than happy to be a witness in your trial, I would assume.”

For the first time in the whole conversation, Howard seemed to lose his countenance. Opening his mouth, his head flew from one to the other of his opposites. Then he jumped to his feet and with a speed that neither of them had expected in the drugged up man, flew through the French door into the garden, the policeman hot on his heels. Phryne was nowhere to be seen. Jack grinned grimly to himself and tried to keep up, despite the stabbing pain in his left leg. Couldn't people just slow down for once, while he was injured? He bit his teeth together, chasing after Bertram Howards, who was dodging around a bush and approaching the corner of the house. Then he suddenly stopped as if slamming on invisible brakes. Around the corner stepped Miss Fisher, like a Nemesis, her blouse fluttering in the sharp, hot afternoon wind, the arm with her golden pistol outstretched and pointed at the head of Howards, whose eyes were flying left and right, looking in vain for an escape route.

“Oh please, try it.” She said pleasantly, as Jack approached casually limping. “Give it a shot. I long for a reason to put a bullet in your head right now.”

Her eyes briefly flew over to Jack, reassuring him that she was not about to do anything silly. He dared to breathe and pulled the handcuffs off his belt.

“Bertram Howards, I arrest you under suspicion of rape and multiple murders and attempted murders.”

The man didn't even struggle when Jack closed the iron around his wrists and escorted him to the car. Phryne clicked the safety back on, before restoring the gun in her handbag and turning to follow them. Despite the heat of the afternoon, she felt cold.

 

X

 

When Miss Fisher arrived at her house two hours later, she couldn't shake the sensation of having the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. She really wished Jack could have taken care of the conversations that were waiting on her. Or maybe Dot or someone else who was better at this. But Inspector Robinson would be stuck at the station for the rest of the day, trying to draw a full confession from Bertram Howards, who had refused to speak ever since he had sobered enough to care. Mr. Butler opened the door, but was kind enough to not mention the look on her face. Emily and Rosie Fletcher were sitting in the parlour together, chatting happily along about something or other, while Dot was pouring tea. Phryne stood a moment in the door, wishing she didn't have to smash this harmonious scene to bits.

“Miss Fisher.” Emily beamed. “I'm sorry, I didn't hear you coming in. Are you going to join us for some tea? Mrs. Fletcher just told me the funniest story...” She trailed off.

“Has something happened? Someone else died, didn't they?”

The Honourable Phryne Fisher took another step into the room, that felt like it was moving under her feet. She hadn't quite realised, how much the strain of the last few days had sucked the energy out of her bones, till it was over.

“Dot, sit down please.” She said on a hunch, that her companions talent for comforting upset people might be needed. “There is something I need to tell you. All of you.”

She sank into a chair.

“Emily... Louisa.” A faint smile snuck over the girls face. “We found the killer. It was Bertram Howards.” Phryne searched out Rosie's face, who had paled in shock.

“Howards? But... Are you certain of this?”

“He shot Morell this morning, in broad daylight in front of Parliament House. Plenty of witnesses.” Miss Fisher assured her, watching a hand flew up to cover Mrs. Fletcher's mouth.

“But why on earth would he do that?”

“That is where it gets complicated. And where you come in, Emily.”

A pair of big eyes stared at her in astonishment.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. It looks like Howards was the man who hurt you. It was covered up, by his friends.” She looked at Rosie, watched realisation dawning on her face. “And he murdered everybody who was there that night, at this party.”

“Including Sidney?” Rosie breathed.

“I'm afraid so, Rosie.”

Phryne Fisher didn't often use Mrs. Fletcher's first name. Trading this right had been an awkward ritual a long time ago and it still felt weird. She pondered for a moment if it was absolutely necessary to explain to her, that her husband had disposed of Emily's supposed body into the Yarra like a piece of trash, but decided against it. There was honesty and then there was being cruel.

“So he was at this party?”

Miss Fisher nodded.

“Yes, he was. It was a rather scandalous event and that was most likely the reason he chose to not take you along. The witness we found was rather vague, but it involved sex and drugs.”

“He slept with other people there?”

Rosie Fletcher's jaw set in hurt.

“I would assume so. But I don't know any details.”

Phryne traded a look with Dot, who wedged closer to the shocked woman.

“How did I end up there?” A small voice asked. While talking to Rosie, she had almost forgotten about Emily.

“I'm not sure, Emily, but you seemed to have arrived with Charles Bungard.”

A blank look stared back at her.

“A young actor, very handsome.” Phryne smiled. “And I believe your sister Susan was also there. He invited you both along and according to the maid, you were all there for the first time and neither of you had an idea about the nature of those parties.”

Emily shook her head slowly as if trying to wrap her head around a strange dream. Then she got up.

“I'm sorry Miss, but I think I'd rather not know anything else about myself today.” She said stiffly.

“Of course.”

The three women watched, as she stalked out of the room. Seconds later Dot got to her feet and followed her. Silence settled over the two ladies remaining by the cold fireplace.

“I am sorry.” Phryne said after a long moment to the former Mrs. Robinson. To her surprise she realised that she really was. Rosie kneaded her hands on her lap.

“I just don't understand. We had just gotten married. He said he was happy with me.”

“Maybe he was.” Phryne heard herself say. “People have very different ideas about marriage and happiness.” Her hand grasped Rosie's fingers, stilling them and pressed them lightly, while she realised, that she was probably the worst person in the world to comfort her opposite. Mrs. Fletcher flashed her a small smile, then jumped to her feet, starting to pace the place. Miss Fisher watched her for some time in silence, when the woman turned.

“I don't believe I can ever return to Sidney's house to live there. How could I go there? It's ridiculous.” She paced some more, then checked her watch. “Iris will be here in two hours to pick me up. I only took a few clothes with me. I need to go back there. Oh God!”

Tears were glittering in her eyes and Phryne stood, handing her a handkerchief. Gratefully, Rosie Fletcher took the piece of fabric from her hands. “I just can't believe it.” She said. Miss Fisher nodded.

“I sent my housekeeper away to her sister.” Rosie stated tonelessly. “I will have to go back to pack my things.” She checked her watch again. “I will take a taxi, I should have enough time.”

Miss Fisher chose not to point out, that she was sure, Iris was more than happy to drive her friend there when she arrived. Instead a bold idea popped in her head, as she saw the woman going into a busy frenzy.

“Why don't I drive you? I have nothing else to do with the afternoon, now that there is no murder to be solved.”

Rosie Fletcher actually smiled at her and Miss Fisher wondered, if she had finally gone completely insane.

 

X

 

Inspector Robinson's day wasn't getting any better. His first interview with Howards had resembled beating his head against a brick wall – repeatedly. Not, that it really mattered. He had found indeed quite a few witnesses, who could reliably confirm that Howards had killed John Morell and he was also sure, Miss Awning could be talked into repeating her story about the party. The man would hang alone for those two deeds. But DI Robinson wanted closure. He wanted to be certain that this time he had put his money on the right horse. He should be sure! It was obvious. Maybe too obvious! Everything in this case fit too snug and yet, it didn't. He flicked through his reports again, when Constable Collins knocked.

“Sir, the results on the weapon are back.”

“Is it Howards?”

“Indeed, Sir. The prints on the outside were smeared, but there were clear prints to be salvaged on the cartridges. It was Howards' service revolver alright. But...”

He trailed off. Jack looked up from where he had just grumpily returned to his reading material.

“What else, Collins?”

“It's not the weapon that shot Morell!”

Jack raised his eyebrows and took the offered report from him, letting his eyes trail over it.

“So he wasn't lying. Morell was carrying.”

Collins nodded eagerly. “According to his man, Morell didn't own a Webley but a Luger. A treasured souvenir from a German soldier during the war. And that was what he was shot with. We found it at Howards' mansion, discarded into the bushes.”

The Inspector licked his dry lips.

“But that doesn't make any sense. Why would he throw his own weapon away, if it wasn't the one he killed Morell with?”

“Maybe someone was trying to frame him?” The Constable said.

“For a murder he actually committed?”

Hugh shrugged helplessly at that.

“Get Howards into the interview room, Collins, I need another talk with him.”

After the door had been shut behind the officer, Jack read through the report slowly, adding the words to the puzzle in his mind. But it didn't make any more sense by the time he was finished. He resisted the urge to scream in frustration and instead got up, stalking on stiff legs over to the next room. His cut burned, as if it could feel his anger.

“Yearning for my company again, Inspector?” Howards asked on his arrival.

“Still longing for a confession.” Jack set things straight, wishing he could wipe the smugness of the men with his fists. He decided to keep standing, the idea of sitting at a table with the bastard was currently making him feel nauseous.

“So, how did it feel, shooting all your friends then Howards?”

“I'm afraid, I don't know what you're talking about, Inspector.”

“Oh don't give me that. Did you enjoy stabbing Morton in the throat? Was it fun?”

A blank stare fixated on him.

“I didn't.” Howards shrugged, leaning back with a smile. “Even though I'm flattered, Inspector, that you think me that much of a cold-hearted bastard. I never stabbed Morton.”

“How about strangling Mrs. Morton? Or the old lady, Mrs. Bryant? Oh it must have been so much fun to beat an old woman into a pulp. Did she beg you to let her live?”

A shadow flew over Howards face at this. Jack had enough. He stalked over to the table on which the empty-eyed man was still sitting solemnly and slammed his palms down in front of him.

“Tell me Howards? Did you get off on it?”

Silent reigned for a moment. Then Bertram Howards opened his mouth. Jack held his breath, waiting, expecting the words from him.

“What did you do to your leg, Inspector?” The criminal asked quietly. Calmly. DI Robinson stared at him in disgust. But the wheels in his head were turning. Then he responded, with equal calmness.

“You don't know, do you? You really don't know!?”

“Wouldn't ask otherwise.” Howards stated, leaning back. But Jack wasn't listening anymore, he was already on the way to the door.

“Jones, get him back to his cell. He has nothing to tell that I'm interested in.”

Jack dropped on his chair, rubbing his aching leg. He had gotten it wrong! Again! Howards was their copycat. But the killer was still out there! His blood ran cold. And if he was still out there, Rosie was still in danger and Caroline Awning and God knew, who else! He picked up the phone, dialing his own number with trembling fingers. But it rang out without anyone answering. Before his inner eye pictures reappeared. An insane killer, drugging the whole household to get to the one person he wanted. Maybe this guy was even worse than Foyle. Crime-scene for crime-scene flashed in front of Jack's eye. Blue limbs, puddles of blood, knives and over and over a gaping gunshot-wound in a flawless porcelain back. His feet ran to the street of their own accord, before his head had sorted through the gruesome images. There was no one behind the desk as he stormed past, but he guessed, it was just as well. He would get him by himself and if he had dared to lay a finger on Phryne, he'd shoot him right where he stood.

 


	23. Dragonfruit

The house lay quietly in the afternoon sun, the coloured windows making for a beautiful contrast to the red brick. Miss Fisher had to admit to herself that Sidney Fletcher actually did have taste, even though she could not stand the man himself. Of course he did. He had married Jack's first wife after all. Phryne held her breath, climbing out of the car. “First” implied that there was a higher number to follow, didn't it? Miss Fisher had had quite a few realisations since the scene she had made the Inspector yesterday afternoon. Above all, that it was a terribly impolite to yell at a man for not proposing and then turn him down, when he decided to follow through. And then, that she was scared and unreasonably so. Jack Robinson was a lovely man, a honourable man, who treated her with respect and yet she feared the 'ownership' a marriage would give him over her. She glimpsed at the woman walking beside her to the front door. She was probably the one person to ask if Jack made for a good husband. Phryne dismissed that thought as fast as it had come. She would definitely not turn such a question to the woman who had divorced him. And why should she? Surely she knew Jack better than Rosie these days. And a ring on his finger wouldn't change the man that shared her bed and her heart. Jack was... Jack. She had entrusted him with her life a million times. Why was she hesitating doing it once more, she wondered.

Phryne could not find a satisfactory answer, while she watched Rosie Fletcher unlock her front door. The smell of an unlived in house wafted through the hall, as they stepped inside. Rosie avoided looking at the sitting room, but Phryne glimpsed at the place, Sidney Fletcher had died. It didn't look overly spectacular, but then crime-scenes hardly ever did. Mrs. Fletcher didn't seem to have realised that her companion had followed her inside up to this moment.

“I will just... pack some things.” She waved towards the stairs. “Just, make yourself at home, I guess. Sadly I can't offer you anything.”

“Don't worry, I will keep myself occupied.” Miss Fisher smiled calmly and Rosie all but ran upstairs. The lady detective snuck a closer look at the sitting room. There was still some chalk remaining on the floorboards and a few faint brown splatters that might have been blood. Also the shards of a broken lamp. Not overly interesting, she knew all of this from the report on Jack's desk. She dimly found herself wondering, why Howards did not attempt to take care of both Fletchers that night, instead of waiting for Rosie to go out. Or did he in the end think that Sidney's wife had recognised him and that was why he had tried to slash her throat? Somehow the precisions of those murders seemed odd for the Bertram Howards she had met today. Phryne returned to the hall and took another door at random. She was greeted by a big, wood panelled dining room, behind it a few steps leading through an arc to the kitchen. Phryne slowly wandered past the long oak table, running her fingers over the smoothly polished surface. Eating in a place like this, if it was only you and your husband, seemed like a weird ritual. Even her reasonably sized dining table seemed often too large for just her and Jack. And she knew he preferred the kitchen table as it was – unless of course, he had other things in mind. A tiny smile played around Miss Fishers lips as she took the first step down into the kitchen. Maybe if she hadn't been absorbed in erotic daydreams, she would have noticed that something was off. But she didn't till her foot hit a small shard of porcelain on the floor. Thoughtful creases appeared under her fringe, as she inspected the remains of a red teapot. Then her eyes fell onto the book lying on the counter.

“ _World's best-loved poems.”_ The lady-detective read under her breath. She had seen this book before, just a few days ago at the State Library. It held a poem about three monkeys, one of them with the wrong name. A clicking sound made her turn around. 

“So it was you, all along?” She asked the blonde girl, staring at her over the barrel of a gun. “Susan, isn't it?”

Miss Bryant nodded grimly. Phryne thought feverishly. Her pistol was in her handbag, but she couldn't reach it without drawing suspicion. And Rosie was upstairs. Susan wouldn't shoot, would she? She had stabbed Jack in the leg, beaten him over the head, but she hadn't killed him. Because Susan Bryant wasn't interested in killing people who had not been involved in Louisa's supposed murder.

Phryne backed away slowly, wondering how long that resolve would keep, when the murderess noticed, that she was exposed. Susan watched, with a sort of disinterest, then stepped closer the gun still aimed at Phryne's head. The detective's fingers were fumbling for her own pistol, but it was out of her reach still. The air was so thick it could be cut with a knife. She had almost reached the stairs, hoping, that maybe she could escape before the girl changed her mind about not shooting her, when her right heel hit a piece of red porcelain. Miss Fisher slipped, pain shooting through her twisting ankle, and she fell backwards. The sound of her skull hitting the edge of a wooden step seemed to echo of the walls. Phryne blacked out for a mere minute, waking to the sensation of her wrists being fastened tightly behind her back with something that felt very much like her own scarf. How very unfair! She struggled, but stopped abruptly, as cold metal was pressed against her temple. A voice reached her ear from upstairs, but it took a moment till she could make out Rosie's words.

“Are you alright, Phryne? I heard something?”

Susan's head flew around. Obviously she had not expected the other woman. Cold hate glittered in her blue eyes. Miss Fisher shuddered.

“I'm fine.” She yelled, staring into the eyes of the murderess that was currently holding a gun to her head. “But I think you should leave this house, Rosie. Right now! Get out of here and call Jack.”

She almost swore loudly, when Mrs. Fletcher's confused voice was getting closer.

“What are you talking about?”

“I found the killer, Rosie. She's right here with me.” Phryne smiled at Susan, but got only an icy stare in return. “She won't shoot me, but she will kill you on the spot. So please leave. Find Jack!”

Of course she wouldn't listen. Miss Fisher knew, she herself wouldn't have. Rosie Fletcher probably thought this was a bad joke. She held her breath, waiting on the other woman's decision. But Susan Bryant had had enough of the games.

“I wouldn't be too sure.” She said. It wasn't a call at all, just a statement and yet, it crept through the walls. “I have killed 9 people, Miss Fisher. One more won't make a difference.”

“Oh don't exaggerate. It was only seven. You didn't kill Morell, although you wanted to. Howards was faster. And I won't ever believe that you murdered your grandmother. So that was Howards as well, I'm guessing. Probably trying to find out where you are from the poor old lady. And all the time you were right in front of his very nose at the club. Watching him.”

“You're very smart, Miss Fisher.” Susan said coldly, without moving the gun an inch. “A shame, you didn't figure it out earlier. I was waiting for you to push the Inspector in the right direction.”

“Jack doesn't need to be pushed.” Phryne stated, pride colouring her voice. “He is smart enough to follow your trail of breadcrumbs himself. But he knew that something was off about it, that's why he couldn't figure it out.”

She was startled from her little speech by a gun being fired right beside her head. When she dared to open her eyes again and the humming in her ears had ceased, she realised what had happened. Rosie had tried to sneak closer and was now hiding right behind the corner to the dining room. The one with a bullet hole in its wall.

“Come out, you coward!” Susan spat. “Or do you want another woman's life on your conscience? Not that I expect you to care, really. You didn't care about my sister.”

“You are aware, she wasn't there, aren't you?” Miss Fisher stated conversationally, from where she was still leaning against the steps. Her ankle burned like fire where it was tied to the other one with something that looked like a kitchen towel. 'Jack! Please, figure it out' She begged silently. 'I know, we left you no clues, but please figure it out. I know you can.'

She heard Rosie 's heavy breathing from behind a  single  wall, felt Susan's patience slowly turning into a thin rubber band, ready to snap.  'And I wish you would do it fast.' Phryne added in her head and closed her eyes. 'Please, Jack.'

 

X

 

Jack Robinson was currently chasing down the garden path to his front door, fumbling for his key. When he stormed in, a pair of dark eyes greeted him from the parlour, over the edge of a book. Emily stared in confusion at the panting Inspector. 

“Where is Miss Fisher?” He asked, once he had caught enough breath to speak.

“At Mrs. Fletcher's house. Helping her pack some things. What's wrong, Inspector?”

“Where's Mrs. Collins? Mr. Butler?”

Jack turned, looking for someone, but there was just silence and emptiness. Not even drugged people and definitely no corpses. He was not sure if he should feel relief or terror about this fact.

“Dorothy went for a walk with her husband when he got home and Mr. Butler forgot something for dinner.” Emily stated calmly, letting the novel sink into her lap.

“Nobody answered the phone. I thought... I thought...” Jack rubbed his face with both hands. “I need to find them. The killer is still out there.”

Emily's already big eyes widened in shock to the size of two almost black dinner plates. She all but threw her book aside and was already past the policeman, before he had moved an inch.

“C'mon then.” She prompted and Jack finally realised that standing in Miss Fisher's hall would not rescue her.

“You're not coming, Miss Emily. It's dangerous.” He stated firmly, when they reached the car at almost the same time.

“Yes, I am!”

It wasn't a question, not even an argument. It was a fact. Jack Robinson climbed into the driver's seat without another word, but silently smiling to himself. Emily had known Miss Fisher less than a week and this was the result.

 

X

 

Sadly Miss Fisher didn't feel smug at all at this very moment. Her hands were starting to go to sleep, where they were squished against the edge of a wooden step and a pistol was still hovering too close to her face for comfort. But what was worse – she could feel the two other women thinking. Rosie was weighing up her chances of getting down those stairs alive and convincing a serial killer that she was not really one of the people she was looking for. And Susan wondered, if it was really worth sparing Miss Fisher's life if it would stop her from fulfilling her revenge. Phryne didn't particularly enjoy either woman's ideas of the next five minutes.

“I will count to three now.” Susan growled, having come to a conclusion. “You come out, or Miss Fisher dies.”

No, she really didn't like it at all.

“Stay were you are, Rosie. She won't do it, I promise.” She yelled with more conviction than she felt. Susan's hand twitched. Then, to the utter astonishment of both other women, she started to laugh.

“The Honourable Miss Fisher. Always so brave. Are you sure it's worth it, though?”

She laid the cold metal against Phryne's forehead. Miss Fisher watched her out of calm blue eyes. “Shouldn't you hate her?” Miss Bryant continued conversationally. “You of all people should despise her. You're lover is her former husband, isn't he?”

Before Phryne could answer, the clicking of the safety being taken off again, boomed through the kitchen.

“One.” Susan said, calmly. “Come on, then, Miss Fisher. You want her dead, don't you? She had the brave, handsome Jack first.”

“Yes, she did.” Miss Fisher said. “And if I recall correctly, then she divorced him.”

“Two.” Susan smiled. “Well, divorce, Miss Fisher. Whatever that means. He still cares for her, doesn't he? And it worries you, Miss Fisher. Of course, it does. I think you should tell her to come out, before I reach three and you die instead. I'm sure, she wouldn't mind consoling Inspector Robinson. But you would mind.”

“You're wrong.” Phryne heard herself say. “You're so wrong.”

Susan Bryant's eyes widened in a way that made Miss Fisher realise that she was not so sure of the game she was playing, as she made out to be.

“Three.” She mumbled. But before she could act on it, a third, breathless voice broke into the tension.

“Alright. You can have me. Just let her go.”

“Oh, more heroic acts. Beautiful.” Susan snarled. “Well, show yourself then.”

Rosie Fletcher stepped out from her corner, with her hands raised over her head, as if she was acting in a stupid gangster film. Phryne's breath hitched in her chest, as Susan slowly, calmly raised her weapon.   
“Stop! Please stop!”

Miss Bryant didn't take her eyes of her target, who was chalk-white and trembling, but standing quietly at the top of the steps.

“Why don't you just let me get on with it, Miss Fisher? One less problem with your Jack Robinson.”

She said it calmly, but her suddenly shaking hand spoke a different language.

The Inspector flinched, as he heard the cold voice, slowly skipping over the the realm of insanity, speak his name. Quiet as a mouse he snuck into the dining room, pulling his gun from it's place on his belt.

Convincing Emily to stay in the car had turned out to be a difficult task, but thank God she was not witness to this. On his race towards Fletcher's mansion, the puzzle pieces had fallen into place. He had realised too, that he didn't want Susan Bryant to be the murderer. She was a victim and Emily's sister and Jack preferred for bad guys to be bad. It made it easier to sleep after you caught them. But nevertheless, now his heart was pounding in his chest and his fist clenching around cold metal. She had Phryne and from the way Rosie trembled on the other side of the room, the girl was also holding a weapon.

“Because,” He heard Phryne's voice that was small and vulnerable and made it hard to resist the urge to storm over there right now and rip her away from Miss Bryant's grasp, “you are completely right. Jack cares for her.”

“So?” Susan asked, but didn't shoot.

“And I am in love with Jack. Rosie being murdered would break his heart and I won't let it happen.”

Jack Robinson forgot to breathe. He felt light headed, as he walked closer.

“You can't stop me!”

Susan grabbed the weapon with her second hand, trying to steady it. She wanted to be stopped, Miss Fisher realised with a start. She just needed a good reason to end her killing spree. She was hardly more than a teenager.

“Look at her, Susan. She is a kind woman. Why would you kill her?”

“She watched my sister get murdered!” Miss Bryant's desperate voice yelled. “And she did nothing.”

“Susan, listen! She was not there!”

“How would you know?” Blonde locks flew, as the girl tore her eyes from Rosie, who was frozen in terror and stared at Miss Fisher instead, without letting the gun drop.

“Because she told me, and I trust her.” Phryne stated calmly.

“You hardly know her.”

“That is very true. But Jack knows her well. And he would never have married a woman who could watch a girl get raped and hurt and stay silent. Never!”

“She's right!” A deep, male voice said. Both women looked up, watching Jack step in front of Rosie, effectively shielding her from Susan's gun. Miss Fisher found herself torn between overwhelming relief of seeing him and terror at the fact that he was now in the firing line of a serial killer, even though he himself was holding a weapon as well. She tore at her bounds, but in vain.

“Are you alright, Phryne?” He asked, without taking his eyes of Susan, in a quiet and deadly standoff.

“Better than ever, Jack.” Miss Fisher smiled sarcastically. “I would prefer however, to go home.”

“I'm working on it, Miss Fisher. Be patient. I know that's not your strong point.”

Susan obviously realised that her control was slipping, as she started to move up the stairs. Helplessly, Phryne watched her take the first step.

“Get out of my way, Inspector.”

“No, I really don't think so.” Jack answered calmly, feeling Rosie breathing heavily in his back.

“Jack, please, just let her...” She whispered, but he wasn't having any of it.

“Give me your gun, Miss Bryant, it's over.”

Phryne squeezed her eyes shut as the two weapons passed each other, Susan and Jack now standing so close that a bullet could not miss. And the wretched scarf would not give way.

“Susan! Stop it!” An angry voice cut through the detective's darkness. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

Miss Fisher opened her eyes to watch Emily join the scene at the top of the stairs. Susan stared at her as if she was a ghost, which really, was pretty much her grasp on things, if you thought about it.

“Louisa. But... you are dead!”

“Well, quite obviously not!” Emily spat. Susan looked like she was close to hysterics and for a moment, Phryne feared she might pull the trigger out of pure confusion. But then, slowly, her gun arm sank and Jack Robinson dared to breathe again.

“The weapon, Miss Bryant.”

Susan extended her hand without letting her sister out of her sight, as if she was scared she would disappear on blinking. Detective-Inspector Robinson peeled the gun from unresisting fingers.

“But I watched you die!” She whispered. “I saw you die.”

Tears glittered in her eyes. Emily wrapped her sister in her arms and drew her head onto her shoulder. Jack's and Phryne's eyes met past the touching scene with the same thought: This was a bitter-sweet victory. The girls had lost way, way too much in this. The same seemed to be happening in Rosie's head, as she watched the sister's embrace with astounding calmness. She didn't look like a woman who had almost died not five minutes ago. But possibly, spending most of her life in the company of policemen had some effect on a woman.

Inspector Robinson was well aware that he should arrest Susan Bryant, but he knew that there was no need for handcuffs. He shared some whispers with his former wife, who nodded and walked off, then he gently stepped down the stairs to Phryne, who greeted him with a smile. 

“And there I almost thought, you've forgotten about me.”

“Never, Miss Fisher.” He promised, pulling her up to undo the knots around her wrists. Phryne rubbed some feeling back into her aching arms, while he attended to her feet.   
“I wasn't sure if you would make it, Inspector.” She teased. “You took your time.”

“Oh, I was of the impression I came just at the right moment, Miss Fisher.” He smiled, making his lover wonder how much exactly of their conversation he had witnessed. She didn't ask however, as he helped her to her feet. Her ankle came, with a loudly voiced complaint, back to life. Outside, sirens drew closer, cars were parked, sending gravel spraying. The two sisters sat, oblivious to this on the floor, still holding on to each other. They knew, of course they knew, that their reunion wouldn't last. This was likely the last time they would ever just sit together. Miss Fisher didn't want to disturb them. In fact she was wishing she could stop time for them a little while longer, delay the police that were storming the house as she was thinking this. But she was also tired and really just wanted to go home. As she made the first step up the stairs, a red flash of pain shot through her ankle, reminding her that this was currently not an easy task. When she looked up, Jack had turned to her, having noticed her sharp intake of breath.

“Are you hurt?” He asked. Phryne shook her head, trying a smile that was rendered pointless by her clenched jaw. “Just a twisted ankle.” She finally admitted grumpily. “I didn't watch where I was going, while I stared down a gun from the wrong end.”

Inspector Robinson nodded. Then, without a word, he swept her up and carried her. The protest Miss Fisher was going to utter, died unspoken on her lips. Actually, it was rather nice, she found. He was warm and strong and familiar and his smell made it hard to not just lean her head against his shoulder and close her eyes. But she did have a smidgen of dignity left and that was not how she wanted to be remembered by his colleagues, who had started to swarm the house.

“In the dining room, second door left.” DI Robinson stated to a Constable who walked past him, gaping, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him to carry ladies around on his arms. And even though he was panting heavily by the time he stepped outside, he would not let go of her till he had reached the Hispano and disposed gently of her into the passenger's seat. Miss Fisher was slightly shocked, when he climbed in beside her.

“You won't arrest her?”

Jack shrugged, backing the car out of it's parking spot.

“There are plenty of police around, I'm quite sure Miss Bryant will find her way to the station the one way or other.”

“And what about Rosie and Emily?”

“They will be escorted back to your house, once they have given their statements. I assume, that's what you want?”

Miss Fisher gave up trying to argue the point with him and closed her eyes to the warm wind of the late afternoon. The heat was suddenly not as overbearing as it had been two hours ago. A lot could change in two hours. Especially with Jack Robinson by your side.

 


	24. Raspberries

Of course, Inspector Jack Robinson couldn't stay with Miss Fisher while there was two killers sitting in his cells and a pile of paperwork waiting on him that would make any clerk blush in excitement. And so it was after midnight, when he returned home, finding to his utter astonishment that the house lay in complete silence, with just a small lamp burning in the parlour. Miss Fisher was sitting quietly at the piano, pushing a few tentative keys.

“I always wondered, if you actually played.” He said, leaning in the door with a tiny grin on his face.

“As you can tell, I don't.” She looked up, sharing his smile.

He stepped up to the instrument, Phryne slipping aside on the stool to make room for him. Jack's hands glided over the white surfaces, as he let his memory take over. It had been a long time since he had touched a piano, but his fingers never forgot things. Not the feel of her skin and certainly not Chopin's nocturnes either. After a minute or two, she snuggled her head against his shoulder, making it hard to hit the right notes.

“Now you're just showing off.” She complained with no sincerity.

He let the music trail away.

“I was kind of expecting a wild party again tonight.” Jack stated, instead of an answer.

“Oh, there was, you only missed the last guests by an hour.” She lifted her head from him, turning her face to the stairs. “In fact, I don't recall Riya leaving.”

Jack pressed a kiss to Phryne's forehead.

“I'm glad Mr. Butler is enjoying himself, too.”

Miss Fisher smiled at this.

“She left us a present though, for our hospitality.”

Jack turned to stare at himself, hanging up on the wall. He gulped.

“It is finished and she wanted me to have it.” Phryne explained proudly.

“I'm not sure, if I'm comfortable with being watched by myself every day.” Jack pointed out.

“Oh, what rot. You watch yourself all the time. That's what makes you such a good policeman.”

Silence invaded the room. After a moment Jack lifted his fingers and kept playing, chased the night away with music.

“She confessed to everything.” He said quietly, without stopping. “Seven murders, two attempts.”

“She'll hang.” Miss Fisher gave voice to what was occupying all the space in both their brains. Jack nodded, his almost forgotten fingers dancing over the keys.

“You know what she said? 'Inspector, I watched my sister get raped and murdered. You think, I am scared of prison? Or death?'”

“Poor girl.” Phryne sighed.

“She could have gone to the police.” Jack gave back, his jaw clenched.

“That would have brought Howards to justice. Maybe. But what about Morell? Fletcher?”

“You think, they all deserved to die?” The Inspector asked, stopping.

“Probably not.” Miss Fisher answered, taking his hand and pressing it gently. “Maybe some more than others.”

Jack didn't answer, but took up the music again.

“I keep wondering though, how she could have been so precise? So deadly?” Phryne said into the notes.

“Their father.” Jack stated quietly. “He used to take the girls to the woods and teach them to shoot. In case they ever needed to defend themselves. It didn't help them as much as he was hoping, in the end. Miss Bryant was watching all her victims, planning every murder precisely. And Morell financed her killing spree. I guess he did not quite expect that.”

More silence, filled with a melody. Phryne wondered briefly, if Chopin had ever anticipated being the backdrop of such a morbid conversation.

“What about Howards?”

“He is still the same smug bastard. But it won't save him. There is too much evidence against him.”

Phryne couldn't help but feel happy about that. If Betram Howards had walked, that would have made Susan's arrest just that much more bitter to her.

“What will become of Caroline Awning?” She asked on afterthought.

“Since she is our main witness against Howards and Susan, she might get around being charged as an accessory.” He smiled grimly. “I doubt she will be able to keep the bribery money though.”

“Speaking of accessories: Amber Walters was here tonight and greatly admired your picture.” Phryne changed the subject. “She also danced all night with Ryan Binley.”

Jack couldn't help but smirk, picking up the music again.

“Still jealous, Miss Fisher?”

“When have I ever been jealous, Jack?” She smirked. “But admittedly, I am glad, Rosie has left with your cousin. Mrs. Walker was quite civil to me too.”

“Was she now?”

“I think she might not be all that horrible. If a little stiff.”

Jack Robinson bit back a comment, explaining that stiff was not really the right word to describe Iris. Instead he gave in to the sensation of relief. While Iris and Phryne probably would never be great friends, the idea of them hating each other had not been sitting well with him.

“Emily went with them, by the way. Much to the disappointment of Mr. Isaak, I fear. I believe, he was kind of hoping for an immoral arrangement. But I think he will have to marry her before she agrees to live with him. His parents won't like it either way.”

Jack nodded, his fingers still drawing Chopin from the slightly out-of-tune piano.

“So, the house is actually empty?” He asked after a long moment of melodic silence, a bold idea filling his chest with excitement.

“Save Mr. Butler and Riya.” Phryne breathed, realising where this was going. Jack nodded, letting the last notes run out into the night. It was time.

“Before I ask the question I have wanted to ask you for weeks, Miss Fisher,” he said casually, turning to her, “I believe I need to explain something.” He gently took her hands in his. “You are allowed to say 'No', Phryne. And if your answer should, against my hopes, be a refusal, then I sincerely want nothing to change between us.”

Miss Fisher looked at him with big eyes, against her nature being utterly silent.

“In fact, I hope, if your answer should be 'Yes', nothing changes between us either.”

Now her red lips parted, but he put a finger over her mouth.

“I know it makes little sense to you, Miss Fisher, but I am an old-fashioned man. I have to ask! And I might keep asking, because I'm also a stubborn man, as you might have noticed.”

She smiled at this while he looked at her with so much sincerity, that her heart threatened to do a flip in her chest.

“What we have is wonderful and I wouldn't give it up for the world, Phryne, but I want more. I want to be your husband.”

His eyes were big and dark and she felt the urge to reach out and stroke his hair and tell him that everything would be all right. That if there was a question, he should just ask it and he might be surprised on how easy the answer would be. But this was his moment, she was not going to spoil it with impatience.

“Phryne...”, He began, the familiar little box appearing in his hand as if by magic. Miss Fisher found, she was holding her breath.

“Is everything alright? I thought, I heard a noise.” A sleepy voice from the door asked. Jack closed his eyes in defeat. It took a moment for Miss Fisher to realise, what had just happened. She turned to look at a blurry-eyed Dorothy in her morning gown.

“Everything is perfectly fine, Dot. Go back to bed.”

She couldn't help the overwhelming emotion of disappointment when she turned and realised that Jack was no longer holding the ring, pressing his lips together in a gesture that she knew, meant that he felt it too. The moment had gone. He tried a smile.

“There are too many people in your house, Miss Fisher.” He whispered, once her companion had stumbled back down the corridor to her connecting door. 

“Then let us retire to a place, where there are none.” Phryne grinned, pulling him from the stool and up the stairs, realising with some amusement that they were both still limping. A mild breeze greeted them on pushing open the door to the rooftop. But that was not what was astounding. The roof was lit by candlelight; the white stubs, safely packed in sand-filled glasses, had been burning for some hours, by the look of it. A bottle of champagne nestled in a bucket of half-molten ice, besides a bowl filled with fresh raspberries from the market, glowing in a ripe red. Phryne sucked their smell into her lungs, before falling onto their nest of pillows and blankets that still remained from the other night, but had been freshly shaken up.

“I know you dislike servants in the house, Jack, but you must admit that having Mr. Butler around does have it's upsides.” She smiled.

“Undoubtedly.” Jack agreed, unbuttoning his jacket and vest, discarding them onto the floor, before slipping beside her. He ran his hand through her hair, locking their eyes and then leaning in for a gentle kiss.

“Thank you.” He whispered, when they pulled apart. “Thank you for saving Rosie.”

Miss Fisher considered a smart remark, but settled for closing his lips with hers.

“You didn't think I would just let her get shot?” She asked quietly, stroking his tired face. A slight shake of his head was the only answer she received. Phryne watched his eyes close, as she framed his cheek with her hand.

“Good, because I meant every word I said, Jack.”

Tired, soft lashes fluttered open at that. Phryne laid all her feelings into her eyes. But it wasn't good enough, she could sense it. Time to stop being a coward.

“I love you.” She whispered, almost inaudibly, but the tears glittering in his eyes betrayed that he had heard it all the same. She cleared her throat loudly and stood.

“Now that we've got that all cleared up, Inspector, I think we should open this bottle.”

He accepted the champagne from her hands, ice water dripping onto his shirtsleeves. Phryne had suddenly vivid pictures invading her brain. She held back however, biting her lower lip, while he fumbled with the cork which, with a satisfying 'pop', finally vanished into the night.

“Raspberries seem an odd choice to accompany champagne.” He stated, pouring the bubbly liquid into the glasses she was holding out for him. “Isn't it strawberries traditionally?”

“I fear, Mr. Butler is quite aware that romance is not always traditional, Jack.”

As she spoke, Phryne picked up a juicy red berry and shoved it between his lips. The sweet and sour explosion on his tongue rendered the Inspector speechless for the moment. Miss Fisher smirked, watching his face intently and offered his champagne flute to him. He took it, not quite accidentally brushing his fingertips over the back of her hand. There was a slightly extended intake of breath and he grinned when locking his eyes with her's, clinking their glasses together.

“To traditions and the art of breaking with them.”

Miss Fisher smiled and drank, leaving a red mark on the edge of her flute, while wondering dimly how to get her lover out of the shirt that was currently keeping her from touching him. She didn't have to worry, as it turned out. Jack set his glass on the small table and moved in for another kiss, running his thumb down her throat in the gentlest of gestures. His fingers never forgot. Not Chopin and certainly not the feel of her soft skin under his. Phryne's fingers mirrored his and she was quite content with the soft moan it drew from him and his dilating pupils. He fished for another red berry and fed it to her, without taking his eyes of hers, while she ran her hand over the front of his shirt, finding a nipple through the thin fabric. His eyes fluttered shut briefly at the sensation. Then he brought his lips to hers, trapping her hand between them. The taste of champagne and raspberries was mixing on their tongues as they deepened the kiss, his hands sneaking under the back of her dress before he brushed the silver fabric down over her right shoulder and caressed the tender skin just above her collar bone. Miss Fisher realised in the fuzzy mixture of arousal and love, that she was still holding onto a glass of champagne. That could certainly be leading to fun. While Jack pulled back to look at her flushed face, probably plotting how to drive her to insanity tonight, she slowly, purposefully extended a hand and began tipping the glass. Jack watched on, his breath held, as the first splash of cold bubbles soaked through to his skin. He shivered.

“You do like to ruin my shirts, Miss Fisher.” He stated hoarsely, but without stopping her while more cool liquid turned the white fabric transparent.

“In fact, I love it, Inspector.” She smirked, when her actions had left the glass disappointingly empty. Miss Fisher set down the flute before in indulgent slowness starting to undo Jack's tie. He did not move, as if not to disturb her. Really, Jack was currently battling with his emotions. It was still hard to grasp the reality of her hands on his skin. Some mornings he woke in the fear that on opening his eyes he would find himself alone in cold sheets, it all having been a cruel dream. But tonight she was real and tomorrow she would still be. The happiness about this currently threatened to overwhelm him, rendering him unable to move.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Phryne started to unbutton his shirt that was clinging wet to his skin, then leaned in to taste his champagne soaked shoulder. He woke from his passivity when she swirled her tongue around a wine flavoured nipple, digging his fingers into her silky hair and groaning quietly in the back of his throat. Phryne took this as a challenge and kissed further down to his navel, where a droplet of the champagne had lingered. Her fingers found the line of his pants with no effort and she looked up to see him watch her with bated breath, as she slowly, teasingly opened the buttons. He was stunningly beautiful in the candlelight, she found. No sculptor could have caught the glow of his skin, the intensity of his eyes. Not even Riya and she had given it a fair shot. And while the artist had captured Jack Robinson in a way nobody else ever had, she did not know this part of him. This belonged to her, Phryne realised, her alone and it was a treasure she would never be willing to share with anyone else. Perhaps it was this very moment, that she really made a decision, even though she might have made it a hundred times already. Two actually. The second one she followed through with straight away however. She reached for the champagne glass he had put down earlier and dribbled sparkling liquid over the most sensitive area of his body. A sharp intake of breath let her look up from her task with a smirk on her red lips. The passion in his eyes took her breath away, when she leaned forward and tasted him. The way Jack's head fell back at this drove home that she had hit the right spots. Content, Miss Fisher took a sip of wine and went on with her work, making his knees tremble at a combination of her mouth and champagne pearls caressing his tender skin. She could sense by his quickening breath that his arousal was growing to dangerous heights, when he stopped her with a touch of her shoulder.

“Phryne.” He whispered and her eyes flew up. Jack reached out his hand and she took it, confused, as he helped her to her feet. He pulled her into a kiss, clamping their bodies tightly together, making her feel his trembling muscles and the very hardness she had caused.

“I think you should take off that dress.” He whispered hoarsely beside her ear, brushing his lips over the tender skin of her neck.

“Why is that, Inspector?” She asked teasingly, feeling his hands roam her back through the thin fabric, before grasping her and pulling her hips against himself. She moaned.

“Because you set a challenge. And I accept.”

Tingles ran down her spine, as Phryne reached for the hidden buttons holding her drapes in place and slid the silver dress with a simple gesture over her shoulders and onto the floor. The way he looked at her made her feel like the entrée to an indulgent meal. The way he touched her, however, as he freed her of her lingerie, opened her garters and rolled down her stockings, caused an entirely different notion in her. As if she was a gift that he unpacked with a mixture of awe and care. Then he gently guided her to their love nest and laid her down. Phryne felt herself shiver in anticipation, her lids falling shut, as he leaned over her, starting his caress at her earlobes, before running his tongue over her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones. She was holding her breath, as he reached her breasts, a steadying hand having found it's way onto her stomach. As liquid hit her nipple, her eyes curiously fluttered open. A red droplet of raspberry juice ran in a slim line down her white skin, before a similarly red tongue lapped it up. Small explosions seemed to go off in Phryne's belly as she watched how Jack bit into another one of the ripe, red berries, dribbling more ruby liquid onto her. She squirmed under his mouth, wondering if it was possible to reach the edge before he had ever really touched her. When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her with intent longing and she couldn't resist pulling him into a kiss. He tasted of raspberries and Jack and she wanted to feel him, but the Inspector was not yet ready. He was indeed taking the challenge and would not sate his own desires, till he had tasted every centimeter of her skin, flavouring it in turn with berries and wine. Trembling all over, Phryne gave into the sensation of being overruled by a man who knew exactly which buttons to push and was intent on hitting every single one of them. She had stopped counting how often he had brought her to her knees by the time, he finally decided to fulfil her longing and his own. Wrapping himself around her, he made love to her under the stars.

While Phryne watched the last candlelight flickering in his dark eyes as they moved in perfect harmony, she wondered how she could have ever been scared of belonging to him. Every muscle, every breath of the man she held in her arms belonged to her. They had crossed the line, had started to melt together in more ways than physical. Even though the physical part was quite enjoyable she remembered, her loud moan sounding through the night, as he made an unexpected move. She witnessed his growing ecstasy, felt his gentle fingers run through her hair, his hot lips on her's. She held him close, as with a last groan into her mouth, he shivered and collapsed into her embrace, the long day and the equally long night finally catching up on him, turning his muscles into pudding. She didn't let go till his breath had settled and they lay, a thin film of sweat and a mixture of sticky liquids covering their skin, together in the darkness as the last candle died. The light night breeze cooled their heated limbs while their bodies calmed down. A still shaky fingertip trailed a lazy line down through the middle of her breasts to her navel. Phryne turned her head to look at him, the familiar tenderness in his eyes greeting her.

“That was quite something.” He whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

“Yes, it was.” She smiled, stroking his cheek.

Jack's eyes swept over Phryne, her sated body stretched out in the moonlight, her lips twisted into a content smile and felt his heart speed up again. Something clicked in his brain. Knowing. Daring.

“Phryne?” He asked, playing with her hair, watching her nod curiously.

“Will you be my wife?”

Both of them forgot to breathe at this stage. Then, to his utter relief, her smile was back.

“I think that can be arranged.” She whispered.

“Is that a 'Yes', Miss Fisher?”

“I rather believe it is, Inspector.”

She wrapped a hand around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. It was sealed. She would be Mrs. Robinson. Phryne wasn't quite sure, if she should feel this giddy at the prospect. To her disappointment, he freed himself from her embrace; then it occurred to her just what he was doing.

“I'm afraid, you already know the ring.” He stated, breathlessly, as he took the black diamond out of it's lining. Miss Fisher realised with a start, that really she didn't. It had been a piece of jewellery before. Sometimes beautiful, sometimes threatening. Now it was her engagement ring that glittered in the bright eyes of the moon, as Jack slipped it onto her waiting finger.

“Have I mentioned before, that it is quite stunning?” She asked quietly, looking at the silver band in wonder. It really did fit perfectly.

“I find it quite stunning myself.” Jack answered, not meaning the ring at all, as he looked at his fiancée. Phryne smiled, settling down beside him and curling into his body. They were still the same and yet, something was different. They lay for a long time in silence; both wondering if the other had fallen asleep; both knowing that that was impossible. There was no sleep to be found in the giddiness filling their chests, the rapid heartbeats sounding in unison. Jack stared up into the wide sky, watching the glittering diamonds strewn over the black silk. None of them was as beautiful as the one on her finger. He would get married again. To Phryne. In all his scheming it had never truly occurred to him that she might actually say yes. And the whole universe with all its wonders, suddenly was his. 

He must have fallen asleep after all, overwhelmed by a week that had been entirely too much on his mind and body, because the next thing he knew was Phryne moving beside him and soft morning light filtering through his lashes.

“Jack.” She whispered. He murmured something similar to a response, while prying his eyes open. Then he understood her excitement. A red sun was creeping over the horizon, promising a new day. One without a serial-killer roaming Melbourne. One in which Phryne was ready to be his wife. He smiled as he inspected the morning sky spreading over the city in all its colours, dipping a few innocently floating clouds into shades of pink. Miss Fisher stared at the firmament in wonder, then lay back down, while he wrapped his arms firmly around her, snuggling against her back.

“I finally figured it out, Jack.” She said quietly.

“What is that?” He murmured, listening to a bird singing somewhere in a nearby tree; wondering if his scratchy face would leave marks on her white skin.

“The sky. It tastes like raspberries.”

“Does it now, Miss Fisher?” He smiled into her hair and pressed his lips to her shoulder. She turned her head to kiss him.

“Yes, it does.”

Jack Robinson chose to not argue with her. Miss Fisher was, as he had figured out, mostly right. Unless of course, she wasn't.


End file.
